Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. But on Sunday he had been obliged to attend to certain matters for the nuns. It’s just upon my lunch-time. He had, he felt, to create certain ideas and vivify certain curiosities and feelings in her. “She has refused to listen to you?” “She has behaved in a most extraordinary manner,” he answered.
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