That would not help her. It was exactly as Sebastian had foreseen. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. ‘But a spy I am not. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica. He's had a hard knock somewhere; and until he is strong enough to walk, we must keep his interest away from that thought. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe.
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