The supreme effect for Ann Veronica was its surpassing relevance; it made every other atmosphere she knew seem discursive and confused. "Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “don’t!” “Why not?” she asked, smiling. “I wonder if there are any good women really. But for him she might have been alive and happy. This was irregular.
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