. She pointed across the road. It happened that at the extremest point of Ann Veronica’s social circle from the Widgetts was the family of the Morningside Park horsedealer, a company of extremely dressy and hilarious young women, with one equestrian brother addicted to fancy waistcoats, cigars, and facial spots. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. “That’s all. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill.
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