“Perhaps you will help me shuffle?” Ann Veronica did, and also assisted nimbly with the arrangements of the rows of eight with which the struggle began. She said that she dated him to be closer to me. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. "That is easily explained. She would not forgive me. He will have it that I’ve taken leave of my senses. Why should you wish to forget it? Unless it is that you did not enjoy it. They had refused. Annabel believed it, came to England and married Sir John. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. There stepped forth a tall brown man. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company.
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