She dared not say the word aloud, not even to herself. Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion. Like carpenter, like chips. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. ’ ‘Lord, yes,’ agreed Gerald, in mock horror. CHAPTER THE SECOND ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW Part 1 “Are you coming to the Fadden Dance, Ann Veronica?” asked Constance Widgett. She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet.
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