Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. Ann Veronica snatched at the opportunity, and spent most of the intervening time in the Assyrian Court of the British Museum, reading and thinking over a little book upon the feminist movement the tired woman had made her buy. He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes.
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