You know—I worship you. Spurlock slept on. 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. Have you ever heard the name of Meysey Hill?” “Meysey Hill?” He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from his tone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed some significance for him. He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him.
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