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. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. She had never expected John capable of saying such things, of thinking such macabre ideas. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy.
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