Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. I met a Hindu a few weeks ago who was a Harvard man. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. What other reason could there be? It’s more complex, but it’s better.
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