Part 4 At eight that evening Miss Stanley tapped at Ann Veronica’s bedroom door. It was now a quarter past twelve. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. But, as you perceive, I brought it away with me. She crept into the living room and turned off the set, adjusting Cathy’s blanket which had fallen to the carpeted floor. His arms were naturally big and his chest was covered with a smattering of soft hairs. And, after all, a fine clear sky of bright colors is the signal to come out of hiding and rejoice and go on with life. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. But—he was cleverer than any of you. “But about last night. You see, I’m selfish.
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