‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. “No you don’t!” said Ann Veronica, and walked out at a brisk and businesslike pace toward the house. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him.
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