“Hello? She’s like, your girlfriend, not mine. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. ‘Hang it all, Mrs Sindlesham is right! You are two of a kind. Ann Veronica snatched at the opportunity, and spent most of the intervening time in the Assyrian Court of the British Museum, reading and thinking over a little book upon the feminist movement the tired woman had made her buy. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. Leastways, she’d be your greataunt, wouldn’t she?’ Astounded, Melusine was just about to demand further information, when a commotion outside the room interrupted her. B.
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