“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. He stood up, apparently intending to put an arm about her, but she stepped back from him quickly. "Have you been more successful, Sir?" ventured Ireton. Then he had gone away. “Don’t think that I have been playing the spy upon you,” he continued. I love him!" She was weak and dizzy: from horror as much as from physical exertion. “Among other things, you know, I didn’t understand quite—I didn’t understand that you were so keenly interested in this suffrage question. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes. . But she could see that Diane watched her more closely now, and in a cat-like way. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. Oddly, he was seldom angry with her as Gianfrancesco would have been. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her.
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