Take your half loaf with the
others. 23
She had always considered herself a simple wool
maker’s daughter, but she began to realize that by
marrying Gianfrancesco she had unwittingly gained
entrance to a separate world. Paris was full, and it
was by no means a retired spot which she had found. You know, I’ve done no
work at all this afternoon. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. And Ann Veronica walked
beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she
had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together,
rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she
escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand
nights” in his company.
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