She had not been sufficiently prompted in relation to the ways of caravansaries; but her mind had been alert and receptive. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. Not once during the ceremony did the two look at each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man who was forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared the world might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken. “I cannot say who he is,” said Ann Veronica, “but he is a married man. I’d ruin the things if I so much as touched one. ” Anna looked at them for a moment with a pitiful attempt at a smile. Like the Valades, I imagine.
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