155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. Her hormones were raging stupidly. “The adventures I do not doubt, Annabel,” she said. Listen, you. As in all things, so his thoughts came to him deliberately. She prevaricated. Never glance sideways at man. “Violence won’t do it,” said Ann Veronica. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them.
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