Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve found her!’ ‘Ah, Gérard,’ uttered the girl in a gratified tone as Major Alderley walked through into the light. You heard her. A boy no older than she, Gianfrancesco’s cousin, whispered what he would like to do to her when she stole into the hallways near the women’s chambers to fix herself. She makes me feel terribly old-fashioned. She cried out in pain, then in pleasure as he thrust himself into her. She is the wife now of another man. “Umph!” he said, and regarded his letter doubtfully before consigning it to the pillar-box. An action which gave Gerald furiously to think. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified.
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