My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. In after years you can return to your own country—to your friends. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. ” Miss Stanley rose and regarded Ann Veronica fixedly. ‘Speak, then. “I will tell you as much as this,” she continued. It was easy to discern Gianfrancesco’s mood. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse.
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