She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. ‘Obstinate fool!’ She saw Gosse raise a hand, and dug into her nun’s habit for the knife she had not thought to need. ‘Wait a minute, though. I believe that I have heard my sister speak of you. ‘But it is not on the horse at all, Jacques. The world is like a peppery horse. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear.
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