She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. There is a new life, different from the old life of dependence, possible. We have that gift. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. He glanced at Miss Klegg again, and spoke quickly and furtively, with eager eyes on Ann Veronica’s face.
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