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The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. “I wonder,” said Ann Veronica at last, “if I am beautiful? I wonder if I shall ever shine like a light, like a translucent goddess?— “I wonder— “I suppose girls and women have prayed for this, have come to this—In Babylon, in Nineveh. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. “I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself.
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