A few minutes later she left the house on foot, and taking a hansom at the corner of the Square, drove to Anna’s flat. To her horror she realized that she had nearly forgotten how to kiss after a years-long dry spell, and she could detect drool on her own chin and John’s cheek. Ruth came to him directly. 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. The next morning came a compact letter from her father.
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