It was something that would create a mutual claim, a relationship. There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. You know very well that you took from my easel David Courtlaw’s study of me, and sent it to Cariolus. She felt like Snow White in a secret forest house populated by dwarves. "There's only one way out of the muddle, that I can see. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. Poor young lady! She trembled too, and was unable to give her evidence.
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