Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. This discovery made, I hastened back to London to offer you my hand, but found you had married in the mean time a smock-faced, smooth-tongued carpenter named Sheppard. Anna rose a few minutes before the general company. And then as we went down you’d try to explain. “Round midnight, I think. Spurling, half aside. “Dear John,” she whispered. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime.
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