Now, for the cage, my pretty canary-bird. "We shall meet again ere long, my son," cried Mrs. “That’s all very well when one isn’t the material experimented upon,” Ann Veronica had remarked. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock.
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