There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. She forced herself not to think of John. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. He was snoring stupidly. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. Long before religion and Society heard of Doubt, girls were all for midnight coaches and Gretna Green. I don’t have to take this shit. CHAPTER THE SECOND ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW Part 1 “Are you coming to the Fadden Dance, Ann Veronica?” asked Constance Widgett.
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