I wonder, Ann Veronica, if, when our time comes, we shall be any wiser?” Ann Veronica watched a water-beetle fussing across the green depths. That had shut him up for a while. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. ‘Are you going to tell me?’ ‘But looking for proof,’ Melusine uttered impatiently. His mind seemed to be a remarkably full one; his knowledge of detailed reality came in just where her own mind was most weakly equipped. What a pity! But why? There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it: that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment.
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