” Ann Veronica’s mind was filled with confused unutterable replies. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. Girls screamed in chorus. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. But she must not laugh. More than half the city perished. A little Madeira seemed to recover her enough to resume the discussion. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters.
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