She is your sister, and God knows I wish her none. ‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to meet him. Her aunt returned before the packing was done, and Ann Veronica lunched with an uneasy sense of bag and hold-all packed up-stairs and inadequately hidden from chance intruders by the valance of the bed. "Why were you afraid to show me this picture, Winny?" asked the youth. You might tell the truth to some men, but never to him. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety.
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