” She disengaged herself from him and went out of the room with a grave, preoccupied expression. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. Ann Veronica was overcome by this amount of emotion. Ann Veronica’s tense nerves started, and she stood still with her eyes upon him, wondering what it might be that impended. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. Jiggle-joggle, jiggle-joggle…! For each pause she was grateful. The next moment he was by her side. But only inside, you understand, that one cannot see it.
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