"All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. ” They left the restaurant just as the rain slowed to a dull trickle, the fury of the storm exhausted, having left mirror puddles in its wake. "Stay!" said Jonathan, aiding his descent; "you had better take my lantern. Neither the American Express nor Cook's had received mail for Howard Taber; he was not on either list. ” Ann Veronica said nothing, and Miss Klegg went on: “He very often IS— most unfair. ” A flush of excitement crept into her cheeks. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. "Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup.
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