Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. I'm no mollycoddle. “I suppose he’s frightfully clever,” said Miss Klegg. 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 am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. The wish was vain: and, endeavouring to banish every earthly thought, he addressed himself deeply and sincerely to prayer. She thought of the smiles she would gather when she brought forth his first grandson.
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