And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. She pulled his shirt from its tucked belted state and snaked her hands around his waist. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. Carefully abstaining from thrusting against each other, Ann Veronica and her father began an absurdly desperate struggle, the one to open the door, the other to keep it fastened.
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