He refused his food,—and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. “You, too,” he said abruptly. Then she saw him. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. . "Don't ask me about it now. . The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men.
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