“Um, he took me to the Big Apple. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. And Miss Miniver fell discussing whether Goopes or Bernard Shaw or Tolstoy or Doctor Tumpany or Wilkins the author had the more powerful and perfect mind in existence at the present time. The girl nodded sagely. It was she—— Anna’s nerves were not easily shaken, but she found herself suddenly clutching at the table for support. People running, screaming, hiding. The room was intimate and wonderful to her with its shadows now cast over the girlish menagerie of stuffed animals. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence.
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