Their small talk continued. . His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. He left his office at 5:39 according to her watch. With a little more meat on him, he would be handsome. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment.
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