"Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. “Well?” she said. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. The annihilation of the Terror which fascinated her and troubled her dreams o' nights. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. She came to me in a dream. You’d think he wanted to meet the wretch again.
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