That wrappered life, as you call it—we’ve burned the confounded rags! Danced out of it! We’re stark!” “Stark!” echoed Ann Veronica. ’ ‘What are you about now, child?’ demanded Martha apprehensively. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him.
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