“I don’t think you realize,” Ann Veronica began again, “that I am rather a defective human being. She had made her way since then a little further into the heart of life. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. But in doing so, I most likely saved 233 your life. So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear—"Mother!" She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. I hate what I am. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. No one will ever love you as I love you now. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner.
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