“If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. He accepted this confession conditionally: that no young man had kissed her. ” “Young? I am twenty-four. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. There was a huge desk of heavily carved ebony at one end, and at the centre, a couple of straight-backed chairs stood before a great fireplace at the outer wall, flanked by two bookshelves with casement windows above. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas.
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