She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. We'll have him yet. He seemed to do ten things before she could think to do one, to leap upon her and take possession. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again.
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