She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. Spiders came out of their hiding places to commune in windows, industriously spinning their own designs over the stained glass. “Ungracious little beast, I call her. ‘I am sure you will. ” “I suppose all men,” said Ann Veronica, in a tone of detached criticism, “get some such entanglement.
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