The angels in Heaven shall not tear you from me. I could not have spoken to her. “The first person you love, Ann Veronica, is yourself—get hold of that! The soul you have to save is Ann Veronica’s soul. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. That is not reasonable. It was the beginning and the end of the transaction. Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. Hastening along the passage he came to the sixth door. And not a worthy tome in sight. “I changed my last shilling yesterday. ” Ann Veronica looked at the mildly pensive gray eyes and the comfortable, rather refined face with a penetrating curiosity. “You will have some tea?” she asked.
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