Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. “Grail!” said Ann Veronica, and then: “Oh, yes—of course! Anything but a holy one, I’m afraid. But there was an abiding serpent in this Eden. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. Why doesn’t she marry? Plenty of money under her father’s will. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered.
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