They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere. Ann Veronica realized that she was alone with the world. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil. I demand it as a right. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. He is steeped in the conventions. She could not feel her own body. I never saw a man who wasn't. She was a much lighter and more frivolous person, very charming and companionable—but with a difference—a great difference.
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