“But who’s going to pay for the room?” “I’ve got money,” said Ann Veronica. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. “I’ve broken off my engagement,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, and found her heart thumping in her neck. “And where are YOU going?” he said. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. But I suppose as I’ll have to wait until you can hear me to tell you again.
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