It was as much accident as anything, but she had killed him. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. “No, the only person I told before tonight was my mother and father. He had had five children at irregular intervals, of whom Ann Veronica was the youngest, so that as a parent he came to her perhaps a little practised and jaded and inattentive; and he called her his “little Vee,” and patted her unexpectedly and disconcertingly, and treated her promiscuously as of any age between eleven and eight-and-twenty. She threw him his car keys. As in a dream, Melusine saw her faithful footman struck, his headlong progress checked. “What can one do?” asked Ann Veronica.
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