She felt a storm of emotion surging up within her. ” “But Hainault—assured—me—that the marriage was binding. His natal burr was always in evidence when he was sentimentally affected. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. Rot, no doubt; but we can’t alter it. Rain changed to hail, then 154 sleet, then snow. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun. ” Lady Ferringhall was conscious of some relief. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. He did not notice that Ann Veronica was preoccupied and heavy-eyed. Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative.
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