“And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas.
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