He was now almost driven to despair. She was furiously angry. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. ‘Now what?’ The girl’s voice was shaking, and there were, he saw now, angry tears in her eyes. Her aunt had secretly sent on to Ann Veronica some new warm underclothing, a dozen pairs of stockings, and her last winter’s jacket, but the dear lady had overlooked those boots. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness.
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