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Her back stiffened. ’ The fury welled. “You know very well that she is selfish and pleasure-loving to the backbone. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. Sebastian drew over to her and lifted her chin from her chest. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive.
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