We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. ’ He flushed. Your name. He seemed too noisy. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. ’ ‘But she must have known I’d longed to hear of you. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.
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