” Anna’s demeanour was still imperturbable, her marble pallor untinged by the slightest flush of colour. It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. It’s no good hiding it any more. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. Wood the carpenter. Ann Veronica was not aware of this literary side of her teacher; she had a little tinge of annoyance at Miss Garvice’s advantage. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. ‘What am I looking for?’ ‘A miniature. I won’t try.
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