She guessed that he probably slept all of three hours a night at most. Sheppard, pressing her hand to her temples. There was a flash and a loud report. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. “Sufficient unto me is the change thereof,” he said, with all the effect of an epigram. “I shall never marry,” said Ann Veronica, resolutely; “I’m not the sort.
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