All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. Get on, do. CHAPTER XXIV. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. But even you cannot alter her character. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. The meat was coarse and disagreeably served. Hilary could not have suggested such a thing.
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