If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. As usual Brendon lit the candles, and Sydney dragged out the spiritlamp and set it going. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. And you talk like that! What the devil have you been up to, to land in this bog?" It was a cast at random. This helped to restore Ann Veronica’s self-command. It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman.
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