The little old lady struck like a projectile upon the resounding chest of the foremost of these, and then Ann Veronica had got past and was ascending the steps. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. ” “Yes, it is. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. “I’d never have a day of peace again, John. You’ll have to go back to Remenham House. As soon as he finished a sheet, he tossed it aside and began another. Simply because they are hardened by—by bestiality, and poisoned by the juices of meat slain in anger and fermented drinks—fancy! drinks that have been swarmed in by thousands and thousands of horrible little bacteria!” “It’s yeast,” said Ann Veronica—“a vegetable. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. ” “For my infertility.
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