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. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. It was a duel, you understand, and that is not permitted. “The very question shows your ignorance,” he declared. Suddenly, she heard the crunch of new feet on the gravel. Peg after peg had gone down his blistered throat, but never had a smile touched his lips, never had his gaze roved inquisitively. It'll be in your way. My, um, my curfew. It may be instinctive; it may be that children vaguely realize that at the end of all wedding journeys is disillusion. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son.
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