’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. “Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began.
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