Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. ’ Total bullshit, if you ask me. “It couldn’t be. I’m not ashamed—of the things I’m doing. ‘He just came. I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself.
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