All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. There was a stain of wine upon her dress. A couple of gilt straight-backed chairs only. ’ ‘But where? Where has he gone? Always he goes off, and he says no word to anyone.
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