Part 5 In the beginning of December Ann Veronica began to speculate privately upon the procedure of pawning. ‘To what do you go, mademoiselle? The life of a nun in a convent, in a country where nuns are unwelcome. I am a man—of a sort of experience. Each of my scholars thinks it his own shirt. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. ” “Go!” he said. For a short time they allowed me to share the warmth of their lives.
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