I said to myself, ‘this will come. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat. “Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring.
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