" "Curse on, and welcome," jeered Wild. Stimulated by the promise of something handsome to drink, the man acquitted himself to admiration in the management of his lazy cattle. Her heartbeat quickened. For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. If she delayed a day she would delay two days, if she delayed two days she would delay a week, and after a week things would be adjusted to submission forever. The manager conceded that he saw, that his original diagnosis was at fault. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. How could she tell him of the evil that drew her and drew her, as a needle to the magnet?—the fascinating evil that even now, escaped as it was, went on distilling its poison in her mind? "Yes, yes!" said the doctor.
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