Manning loved her presented itself to her bloodlessly, stilled from any imaginative quiver or thrill of passion or disgust. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. She found herself in a phase of violent reaction against the suffrage movement, a phase greatly promoted by one of those unreasonable objections people of Ann Veronica’s temperament take at times—to the girl in the next cell to her own. It presented a cleanshaven face with a large Corinthian nose, hair tremendously waving off the forehead and more chin and neck than is good for a man. That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously. Besides, it was under false pretences. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. Perhaps she was.
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