” For a moment she was grave. ” For some creditable moments in her life Ann Veronica was utterly disgusted with herself; she was wrung with a passionate and belated desire to move gently, to speak softly and ambiguously—to be, in effect, prim. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. ’ ‘Are you off your head? Think I don’t know you’re up to some mischief or other?’ Melusine feigned innocence. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. ‘And you mean this? Truly?’ ‘Entirely. I understand nothing of what you say. ” His face darkened.
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