Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. She brought her face to his chest, turning her head sideways so he would not notice her elongated canines. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. No mercenary consideration influences me. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. “That’s exhilarating,” said Ann Veronica. Her nurse says she may live some time; but she seems to me to be sinking fast.
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