She understood. They could not go on. Away in London even now Capes was packing and preparing; Capes, the magic man whose touch turned one to trembling fire. But he had shown no desire for information, no curiosity. There was a huge desk of heavily carved ebony at one end, and at the centre, a couple of straight-backed chairs stood before a great fireplace at the outer wall, flanked by two bookshelves with casement windows above. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. Gods! what it must be to pour out strong, splendid verse—mighty lines! mighty lines! If I do, Ann Veronica, it will be you.
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