“Beautiful these autumn flowers are,” said Ann Veronica, in a wide, uncomfortable pause. He and her father shook hands manfully. Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears. A furious attack was made on Jonathan, who, though he defended himself like a lion, was desperately wounded, and would inevitably have perished if he had not been protected by the guards, who were obliged to use both swords and fire-arms upon the mob in his defence. No; she'd never go back. Perhaps he truly meant it – perhaps there was a force within him that could withstand the hardships of existing past a mortal lifetime. He'll mend, I hope.
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