“You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica. Days later, Sebastian found her by the lake, sobbing. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way. “I’m not the Devil. You know the sort of thing. ” Again on his way homeward from Cavendish Square he abandoned the direct route to pass by the door of Anna’s flat.
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