He had conveyed it to her, not verbally, but by means of a letter, which seemed to her a singularly ignoble method of prohibition. I suppose I was a little idiotic—I don’t think we either of us mentioned the future, but it was arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea with her. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. “But what can one do?” asked Ann Veronica. It was my destiny to have her.
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