“It’s bound to be all right,” she said. It was not only Leonardo who had instilled in her this distrust of men. The tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry. This mitigated her remorse enormously. " There was a roaring in her ears like that of angry waters. For me that is all over and done with. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. “I didn’t blow up the house. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically.
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