Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. He could not make good his hold. He saw her eyes pass him and settle on a fleetingly pretty strawberry blond girl and her effeminate father. Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry.
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