Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. ‘Gone!’ he said. "Those chops, fried potatoes, and buttered toast.
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