CHAPTER THE FOURTH THE CRISIS Part 1 We left Miss Stanley with Ann Veronica’s fancy dress in her hands and her eyes directed to Ann Veronica’s pseudo-Turkish slippers. For if the likeness between the sisters was remarkable, the likeness between this girl and the poster which he had come from studying was more remarkable still. He was the social order; he was law and wisdom. There was no one stirring in the flats. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. She didn’t like the shops, she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable persons she had ever had to face. Good riddance to bad rubbish. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child.
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