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‘Me, I have a name. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. 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. Everything. He had only to recall this fact (which he did in each crisis) to erect a barrier she could not go around or over. Predictably, Charvill turned on him.
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