“He ran some Austrian fellow off. Anna stared back at every one with undaunted composure. The horns were the worst, slipping in and out of tune and rushing the easy sections, fighting everyone else. She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that. ” Ann Veronica agreed, and tried to make the manner of her assent cover a possible knowledge of a probable poem. She wrote it down. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. Don’t you care for Nigel at all?” Anna was silent for a moment or two. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. He stood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest in his. ‘As to that, I am a devil, say the nuns.
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