‘Do not imagine that I will leave poor Jacques. I have read that authors are very selfish and self-centred. “Gods!” cried Ann Veronica, and kept him standing. Let us stay the night here. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. This I have sworn to do—this I will do. He waved an arm and spoke with a peculiar resonance. I have had enough of your hysterical behavior. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself.
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