“Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. ’ Melusine stared. All of us were fussy, colicky babies from what she tells me. Ann Veronica had come down thinking of nothing in the world but her inflexible resolution to go to the dance in the teeth of all opposition.
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