So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. This too shall pass. Above the housetops it was different. "Auntie?" he cried. Seems Enschede's daughter ran away and left him, and he's combing the islands in search of her. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. The first circumstance that struck her on her arrival seemed ominous. Not conceiving that his sister—feeble as she was, and yielding as she had ever shown herself to his wishes, whether expressed or implied—would depart without consulting him, he was equally surprised and enraged to hear the servants busied in transporting her to the carriage. “Why on earth,” he asked, “did you hurt me like that?” Ann Veronica did her best to think she had not deliberately attempted to cause him pain. And he did not lack courage.
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