Gods! what it must be to pour out strong, splendid verse—mighty lines! mighty lines! If I do, Ann Veronica, it will be you. ” There were no such girls and no such positions. ” She shook her head gently. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music.
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