But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. “You see you do not know how much of truth there is in his story. She had looked forward to an explanation. They seemed the most wrapped things in all Ann Veronica’s wrappered world. She got up early, and walked about the garden in the dewy June sunshine and revived her childhood.
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