She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth. ” She glanced shyly at the mirror above her dressing-table, and then about her at the furniture, as though it might penetrate to the thoughts that peeped in her mind. Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion. They struck her as cold and indifferent.
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