But I dare not accept it. Dollis Hill revisited 324 XII. '—'They can't,' says I. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. She would write to Gerald. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. “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.
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