‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. She reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness. “Yes,” said Ann Veronica, “yes,” to his explanation, and saw across the lawn Lady Palsworthy talking to her aunt, and both of them staring frankly across at her and Mr. Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of his Bible. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional.
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