His throat filled; he wanted to weep. ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. It was a cheerful, irresponsible, shamelessly hard-up family in the key of faded green and flattened purple, and the girls went on from the High School to the Fadden Art School and a bright, eventful life of art student dances, Socialist meetings, theatre galleries, talking about work, and even, at intervals, work; and ever and again they drew Ann Veronica from her sound persistent industry into the circle of these experiences.
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