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‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. I said as how I’d tell Mr Jarvis as he wanted to take you away. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. “You are a funny, a very funny young lady,” he said, “but we waste time here. But remember my warning, and play the game!" Spurlock closed his eyes again. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun.
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