He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. He mumbled an apology and then stopped short. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls. I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself.
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