Just then—I was nervous. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. “Are you aware, Ann Veronica, you nearly throttled that gentleman?” Then she reviled her own foolish way of putting it. Couldn’t fit it inside, but the horse’s blanket lay over it, and, like I said, as long as no one rides him and don’t remove the blanket, I think it’ll stay hid. So I ran away, blindly, knowing nothing of the world outside. S.
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