I knew it was only a matter of time before the boys started paying attention to you, Lucy. ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. The south-east end of the island was hillocky, with volcanic subsoil. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society. Ann Veronica ignored her friend’s confusion.
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