When she judged that she must be nearly back at the library, she began to feel somewhat dispirited. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. Anna, who had sung the first verse of her song, looked around the house, a little surprised at the absence of the applause which had never yet failed her. “How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall. The significance of the kiss was still obscure to her, though she had frequently encountered the word and act in the Old and New Testaments and latterly in novels. On that basis alone, he had no right to give or accept love. ‘Leave it, imbecile.
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