She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. They seemed the most wrapped things in all Ann Veronica’s wrappered world. Bodies were piled high in the streets, Sebastian went on rounds and would come back late at night, reporting horrors and robberies, death that came within hours, not days. He was also aware that all his arguments would shatter themselves against her resolutions. “No doubt about that, I fancy,” Meddoes answered lightly. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine.
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