“You can’t think that I’m fool enough to be put off like this. How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. Her aunt had secretly sent on to Ann Veronica some new warm underclothing, a dozen pairs of stockings, and her last winter’s jacket, but the dear lady had overlooked those boots. “Exceptionally so. He placed his chin upon the top of her head. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. ” It was her last evening in that wrappered life against which she had rebelled. Curiosity held her by one hand, urging her to recklessness, and caution held her by the other.
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