My father was Colonel Pellissier. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. Part 4 MY DEAR VEE, he wrote. It worked. "I beg pardon," he said. " His attention being thus drawn to the bank, the carpenter beheld three figures, one of whom bore a torch, leap into a wherry of a larger size than the others, which immediately put off from shore.
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