“Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. ‘And me, I am a lady. . Even the horns were easing into the concept and the woodwinds in the second movement were particularly well-orchestrated. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. She laughed altogether in her old manner. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. But this is a great lark, Ann Veronica! This turns life into a glorious adventure!” “Ah!” she cried in triumph. No one in the world is beyond the shaft of scandal— we all catch it terribly sometimes.
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