‘Damnation! Too late. The party resolved itself for Ann Veronica into a game in which she manoeuvred unostentatiously and finally unsuccessfully to avoid talking alone with this gentleman. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. He’ll do. If anyone noticed, he did not report the event. The latter took from his pocket a small note-book and pencil. He waited for an instant, wasting an encouraging smile in the imperfect light, and then shut the doors of the van, leaving the women in darkness. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position.
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