She became at times an embodiment for Ann Veronica of all that made the suffrage movement defective and unsatisfying. “What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin. “Under the Wilde Frau—which was named after you. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty. “Endless. But I do not even care if I am absurd. ” The wedding-breakfast was for Ann Veronica a spectacle of the unreal consuming the real; she liked that part very well, until she was carelessly served against her expressed wishes with mayonnaise. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha.
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