At breakfast both of them played their parts skillfully. Wood trembled. He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. . . "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is.
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