He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. That window there…. He would have sent the Virgin Mary to heal the baby. She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. “Well, you have thought it over?” he said, sitting down beside her. ” Ann Veronica was about to reply, when he went on, with a still more deadly quiet: “I am not here to bandy words with you. ’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen.
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