"'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation. She would compose extremely lucid and honorable explanations. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. "You are all right?"—anxiously. Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger. He liked to draw her in, and she did her best to talk.
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