Goopes said that we must distinguish between sincerity and irony, which was often indeed no more than sincerity at the sublimated level. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Ann Veronica loved beautiful things, and the beauty of undraped loveliness not least among them; but these were pictures that did but insist coarsely upon the roundness of women’s bodies. “Mike, that’s not even remotely funny. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it.
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