E. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. I don’t know what has come over me. He had had five children at irregular intervals, of whom Ann Veronica was the youngest, so that as a parent he came to her perhaps a little practised and jaded and inattentive; and he called her his “little Vee,” and patted her unexpectedly and disconcertingly, and treated her promiscuously as of any age between eleven and eight-and-twenty. On these were thrown all the horrible contents of Jonathan's museum, together with the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard. There are many things which I do not understand. A fever of shame ran through her being. She says that everyone in the house makes too much noise, my Dad snores, and that when the house is empty, the traffic noise is nearly deafening. ‘How is this? Proo-den-ss. Unless—’ Something clicked in his mind and he stared at his friend without seeing him.
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