We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows. This lover of yours—” “He doesn’t know!” cried Ann Veronica. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. No more scuffling.
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