"With all my heart!" replied Wood. It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. 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. They were in different key, they had a different timbre. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity. "Concerning whom?" "Mrs. Vorsack sat alone at his computer in his pajamas. "I think you're all bewitched," she cried. When she saw Ann Veronica she stood for a moment as if entranced, and then advanced with outstretched hands.
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