“I cannot say who he is,” said Ann Veronica, “but he is a married man. Groups of boys took to ogling her as she walked frenetically from class to class. “Flesh and flowers are all alike to me. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. ‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to meet him. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. Thank you for walking me home the other day. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart.
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