All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. Even the basest objects sold in the 24 roadside shops were beautiful in some way. The jailers robbed the prisoners: the prisoners robbed one another.
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