Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. Then she had a baby and became as old as any really grown-up person, or older, and very dull. “I knew you would feel it,” said Miss Miniver, as they came away flushed and heated. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional.
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