He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. As to following, there was no one. ” “I am sorry,” said Ann Veronica. ‘Leonardo again,’ he growled. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. She had remained patently unavailable to him. You can test it out on us this Thanksgiving Sunday. I may want you. “Believe me, I know. With great difficulty, Wood forced a path through the ruins.
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