It came to Ann Veronica one night after a long talk with Miss Miniver, as a sudden remarkable thing, as a grotesque, novel aspect, that this slowly elaborating biological scheme had something more than an academic interest for herself. What was it she had expected? Surely her moods were getting a little out of hand. ‘A devil is just what you are. Mirrors. Gay. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness.
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