She despises one-piece swimsuits, she calls them ‘old hag bathing dresses’ no matter how low-cut they are. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. God had never answered any of her prayers. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward.
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