It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. “But who’s going to pay for the room?” “I’ve got money,” said Ann Veronica. Imagine any one on this side refusing fifty bucks! Well, I'll be toddling along. She was quite tired of the stream of visitors and heard with relief the words of her newfound great-aunt, addressed to her son’s butler.
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