It doesn’t seem to matter. Why would your mother be so impatient?” Lucy speculated. All the furniture was moved, all the meals were disarranged, and everybody, Ann Veronica included, appeared in new, bright costumes. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. His eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. I had not been near the Royal Society since—since you disgraced me. “That is where I got confused,” he said. ‘Leave it, imbecile.
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