It's mighty lonesome down there for a man bred to cities. You go home and wait a century, Vee, and then try again. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. I miss her a lot. She's too pretty and unusual.
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