“My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. ‘This journey I do not like,’ she said more loudly. Do you think I would marry you? Rather would I marry the pig in the convent. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. I worshipped women long before I found any woman I might ever hope to worship. Dear me, what a difference it has made! No one would ever think that we were sisters. She chuckled. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey.
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