He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. ” She looked at him quizzically and shrugged. He believed me when I asked him to marry me. ‘You wouldn’t know one end of a pistol from the other. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. . Would I could purchase his apathy as easily as I can procure his assistance. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult.
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