‘What are you after this time, miss?’ asked Jack. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. He had only to recall this fact (which he did in each crisis) to erect a barrier she could not go around or over. ‘Yes, I thought you’d say that. ‘See that writing table? Go and look in the drawer there. An uncomfortable silence followed. In this way, more than a month passed over.
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