She let them fall and sped to the companion, where she stood for a moment, the moonlight giving her a celestial touch. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Perhaps she did love research for its own sake, she was certainly gifted enough. I will do anything and everything I can to become your equal. She complained of the crowded cities, dismayed that the people were repopulating them like rabbits. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her.
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