You’re of age— you’re of age. Anna came back into the sitting-room with a little sigh of relief. As concertmaster, it was Lucy’s duty to seat the orchestra as well as tune them. The ribald demons that infested the back of Ann Veronica’s mind urged various facetious interrogations upon her, as, for example, where the witness had acquired his prose style. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. Sit down, I command you. For some days we shall be very idle there among the trees and rocks. It gave him plenty of time to obsess over his random crushes, which worried her. It is not so.
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