I did not know what God had in mind then. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. She fought him at first, screaming at him, but he did not relent. He would make her rub her lips with waxes and other ointments, precursors of lipsticks. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her.
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