But she no longer felt Jacomo’s age, even if she looked it. Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. So while he talked to this girl of work and freedom, his slightly protuberant eyes were noting the gracious balance of her limbs and body across the gate, the fine lines of her chin and neck. I must apologize for my young puppy of a clerk. Vanity was a vice not just to be deprecated, but effectively strangled at birth.
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