And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. “She doesn’t know. "No matter. Wood was once a favourite of yours. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. You intrigue me. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. Let us stay the night here. ” That night was the most intolerable one that Ann Veronica had ever spent. Does HE know I keep you?.
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