Part 6 When Ann Veronica reached her little bed-sitting-room again, every nerve in her body was quivering with shame and self-disgust. “Absolutely,” the doctor answered, “and the sooner the better. ” For some creditable moments in her life Ann Veronica was utterly disgusted with herself; she was wrung with a passionate and belated desire to move gently, to speak softly and ambiguously—to be, in effect, prim. Scissors with which to cut her hair, just in case. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them.
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