"Where did you find it!" asked Wood. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. "You're in danger. Within ten minutes he had read much more than had greeted his eye. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. She had not even endorsed it. Immeasurable disgust possessed her. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about.
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