Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. Except for one memorable school excursion to Paris, Ann Veronica had never yet been outside England. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you. He had no ideas about daughters. He listened. Every girl in the world practically, except a few of us who teach or type-write, and then we’re underpaid and sweated—it’s dreadful to think how we are sweated!” She had lost her generalization, whatever it was. She had finally managed to start breaking him down. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear.
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