“You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. The face that looked down upon Ann Veronica was full of amiable intention. Wood, who were, furthermore, engaged in a little conjugal tête-à-tête of their own.
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