" The manager extended his hands at large, as if to deny any responsibility in the affair. He seemed to stay away from her because she was so cold and formal towards him, addressing him as Mister McCloskey as if she were an Irish maid. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. She found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table. She did not wince. Neither father, aunt, nor brothers made a sign, and then one afternoon in early February her aunt came up in a state between expostulation and dignified resentment, but obviously very anxious for Ann Veronica’s welfare. . “I wonder which of us enjoys that most,” said Capes—“does he, or do we?” “He seems to get a zest—” “He does it and forgets it. With the same inducements we should all do the same thing.
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