“Perhaps you will not object to answering one for me. To find the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy tale Ruth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerable thought. I hope this is all. I never could. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. The sergeant had not seen it for he understood nothing of what she told him. “It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. ” Ann Veronica did. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded.
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