Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. For a moment she too had started and faltered in her exit from the room. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. “It is very, very difficult,” she continued, looking steadfastly at the ground. Meantime, as the doctor was splitting his breakfast orange, he heard a commotion in his office, two rooms removed: volleys of pidgin English, one voice in protest, the other dominant. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. The crowd began to separate as it fell into the theater.
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