The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. “Damn!” said Ann Veronica to herself, rousing herself for a conflict. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. This is not true at all. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action.
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