He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. 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. ‘Even the nuns they say I am like a devil. I just want him, and no one else will do. “What do you mean?” Lucy asked. "Your son," answered the boy.
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