I have a big breakfast. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things. She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire. She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire.
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