From the first I could see that neither believed my story. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. She ignored it until it repeated itself. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. But we can’t help noticing. It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. Sheppard, fervently. ” She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café. She wanted to think.
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