And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel. She was amazed that at over sixhundred years old that she could miss her parents so bitterly. The sounds of the seashore infiltrated her dreams as she floated in heavenly bliss of sleep. I said to myself, ‘this will come.
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