“Is that you, Nigel?” she asked. He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so agreeable because she had come back again. In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended. ” “One has theories,” said Ann Veronica, radiantly. “Oh I most definitely think so. I'm crazy over music, too. Brendon’s had an awful stroke of luck. Her thoughts took words for themselves. It was explosive and gratifying. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights.
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