“It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. New customs have prevailed over the old. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. Well, it had to happen somewhen.
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