Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. " There was a brief, breathless pause. An unwelcome idea came to him. " "On what business, in the name of wonder?" asked Sheppard. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. “Gods!” cried Ann Veronica, and kept him standing. ‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. She wished to view Sebastian again if only to reaffirm that there was a human being whose appearance remained unaltered by the vagaries of time and memory.
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