Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. “These are for you. And then you go—and half throttle me. Nor had Jack been idle all this time. But, by Jove! it’s going to make our loving a fiercely abstract thing. ‘Yes, very rude,’ agreed the major. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. We have to hang about in the interval. Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions.
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