How could you draw the curtain aside which hides the great and holy places of life—you, who have never loved?” “You have become French to the core,” she murmured. Ann Veronica found herself walking back down the Avenue that had just been the scene of her first proposal beside her aunt, and speculating for the first time in her life about that lady’s mental attitudes. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in the doorway. For all her begging she had been given the choice to go into the nunnery and “learn how to read scrolls with the rest of God’s Spinsters” by her father, but had quickly lost interest when presented with the idea of bearing babies. And, after all, a fine clear sky of bright colors is the signal to come out of hiding and rejoice and go on with life. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. “I suppose there’s no way of getting a decent income—independently. But I had to know for sure.
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