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. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. Anna leaned back with half closed eyes. I didn’t believe him and I said so. ‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours. That was the glorious if bewildering truth.
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