” Anna nodded. She almost submitted to this ending of her adventure. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. ’ ‘Melusine,’ repeated the old lady. ‘They cannot be worse than mine in English, monsieur. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. Brutes! They are the brute still with us! Science some day may teach us a way to do without them. “Just at present my mind simply won’t take hold of this at all. “That is as you will,” she said. Gods! what it must be to pour out strong, splendid verse—mighty lines! mighty lines! If I do, Ann Veronica, it will be you.
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