“I wonder,” said Ann Veronica at last, “if I am beautiful? I wonder if I shall ever shine like a light, like a translucent goddess?— “I wonder— “I suppose girls and women have prayed for this, have come to this—In Babylon, in Nineveh. I hate what I am. Besides, your remark is not in the least complimentary. Moreover, a vigorous fire of mutual criticism was going on now between the Imperial College and the Cambridge Mendelians and echoed in the lectures. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. There were moments when Ann Veronica rather more than suspected the chief speakers to be, as school-boys say, showing off at her. ‘I do not know how you think you may help me,’ she said slowly. . A fortnight passed, then a month. ‘Do not imagine that I will leave poor Jacques.
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