Above her head was an aura of white fire. Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. 266 She peered up at him. “Better,” said Ann Veronica, with an unreal alacrity. She moved then, fast, taking refuge behind a Chinese screen that was set beside the four-poster at the back of the room. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating.
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