Ann Veronica, who knew her dress became her, dropped a curtsy to her father’s regard. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. “My dear Miss Pellissier,” he said impressively, “this is an unexpected pleasure. White caught her eye, and smiled benignly down the table. All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth.
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