But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. It is safe. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. There are some islands upon which he is not permitted to land any more. So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. 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. .
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