" With this, he attacked her vigorously in his turn. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. Ann Veronica decided to be more explicit. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose.
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