” Lucy tried to ignore her awareness that Mike’s ears had perked up. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. Too close, he reasoned, for safety. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. ” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. I am a little afraid. A failure! She must write herself down a failure! At her age, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament and creative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent means of expression.
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