“It was poison—why not?” she answered. In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. No, this was imbecile. She became eager to explain herself, to show herself in the right light. The ribald demons that infested the back of Ann Veronica’s mind urged various facetious interrogations upon her, as, for example, where the witness had acquired his prose style. It probably had its own repulsive oubliette in the bottom, where tiny princesses could fall and break their necks. . She packed her things, then ran a mile to Julian’s apartment. He was not sure that the boy had put himself beyond the pale; merely, the boy's actions pointed that way. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. He was detained.
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