“Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica. ” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. She liked the animated eagerness of his manner. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously.
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