“You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand. She stared. But I can give it its name now. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. And there arose too, a background of shouts. I’m behaving shockingly, I know. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. That’s really our choice now, defy—or futility. “Tell him that he is mad.
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