In those revolutionary times one had to be prepared. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. Miss Stanley threw aside a black cloak to reveal a discreet and dignified arrangement of brown silk, and then embraced Ann Veronica with warmth. She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round.
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