He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. She pulled down her veil and made her way to the door. The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat.
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