She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol. You will find the certificate in my pocket. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. Just a formal marriage. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand.
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