She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. “It’s either now or never,” said Ann Veronica, again ascending this stile. He knew she had been weeping. He then unlocked a cabinet, opened a secret drawer, and, lifter ransacking its contents, discovered a paper he was in search of, and a glove. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. Pale, flesh-colored light filtered in through the corners of the house. He wasn't quite hard enough to win worldly success; that was his fault.
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