The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. ' Why," said Ruth, "you did not read that to us. I met her when we were both very young, as young as you are. He had a blue overstuffed couch, his own television, even a computer with its own desk. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue. The pleasure intensified quickly, it was as much control as she dared to lose as she heard herself calling his name with all her breath. ” Ann Veronica made no answer.
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