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“You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand. I suppose I ought to have been a man. He resumed his listening. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife. ’ ‘Between the devil and the deep blue sea, he were,’ agreed Pottiswick’s daughter.
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