He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things. He destroyed her clumsily made dolls whenever he found them. The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could so entreat her. F. Manning; and added, “the twenty-ninth. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved. Manning might go on now idealizing her as much as he liked. "That is easily explained.
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