Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that. Remote little Ann Veronica! She would never know the heart of that child again! That child had loved fairy princes with velvet suits and golden locks, and she was in love with a real man named Capes, with little gleams of gold on his cheek and a pleasant voice and firm and shapely hands. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. Mere formality. Ever hear of the djinn in the bottle? Like enough. Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. I’ve accustomed myself to think of you— as if you were like every other girl who works at the schools—as something quite outside these possibilities. It’s just because all that side of your life hasn’t fairly begun. She would flee to the wild fastnesses, the places where there were no overarching systems of any use, where she could blend with the unstable populace and kill in relative peace. She would never forget the agony of that first meal in the great dining room. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch.
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