Ann Veronica said nothing. Seeing the footman about to follow her in, Gerald clamped a hand onto his shoulder. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. ‘Are you going to come quietly, mademoiselle?’ he demanded with grim determination. But his astonishment would have been great indeed had he known that not even her father had ever caressed her, either with lips or with hands. ‘She’s gone.
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