Her gaze flickered down to his pistol. His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. Then for the first time she was conscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion.
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