’ ‘I don’t want to think it,’ he said, and she thrilled to the savagery in his tone. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. He returned, blue towel in hand. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. One OUGHT to want to please her.
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