A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. I am no use for a clerk, because I do not understand shorthand. She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol. “I suppose a girl MUST be underpaid and sweated,” said Ann Veronica. 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. By this time, the churchyard was crowded with spectators, some of whom dispersed in different directions in quest of the other robber. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning.
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