"Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. 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. In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended. “His stipend forbade it,” she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought. ’ ‘Don’t be a fool, woman,’ snapped Charvill, thrusting himself further into the room.
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