T. Why should she? she asked rebelliously. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. At that a new element poured into her excitement, an element of wild disgust and terror. She didn’t like the shops, she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable persons she had ever had to face. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. Between his lectures—and primarily he was an itinerant lecturer—he manoeuvred in vain to acquire some facts regarding the girl, who she was, whence she had come; but always she countered with: "What is that?" Guileless she might be; simple, never. These realizations rushed into Ann Veronica’s mind and hardened her heart against him. Perhaps he truly meant it – perhaps there was a force within him that could withstand the hardships of existing past a mortal lifetime. The lad looked alarmed.
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