I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. The jealous burn at his eyes subsided and his finger came up. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. He was every bit as much a pig as this Emile. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. ” “But there is not a shadow of evidence against you,” he objected. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. He would always be her friend, too.
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