But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore her to the thought of Capes again. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. ” She turned herself to one side and propped her head in her hand. He was keen to get to work, but the inspiration would not come. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter.
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