But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. “For seven years,” said Ann Veronica, “I have been trying to keep myself from thinking about love. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. The phone did not ring. She meditated profoundly through several enormous cold hours on all that had happened and all that she had done since the swirl of the suffrage movement had submerged her personal affairs. Then I came to London and tried almost everything—all failures. Suddenly she became worthy of attention again and her husband teased her and joked with her as Sebastian openly admired her beauty, teasing her and patting her shoulders, pulling off her headscarf. But perhaps he was right not to tell you the truth. "Certainly not," replied Gay.
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