The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. Montague Hill do not interest me in the least. “There is my aunt,” she said. He walked on for an hour longer, till he could scarcely drag one leg after another. ” “I began to be afraid you might not come at all.
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