It came to Ann Veronica that life was wonderful beyond measure. “But for you Dad would never have let me marry Lescelles. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. Melusine did not attempt to speak. She was acquiring truths, but in a series of shocks rather than by the process of analysis.
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