If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. Long ago. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. Splendidly. ’ To be sure there was a way. Ought she to walk into some of these places and tell them what she could do? She hesitated at the window of a shipping-office in Cockspur Street and at the Army and Navy Stores, but decided that perhaps there would be some special and customary hour, and that it would be better for her to find this out before she made her attempt. ” “There’s art,” said Ann Veronica, “and writing.
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