It must be the dawn creeping in. “I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am. You have said a thousand times that there was no shame in you. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. Ann Veronica halted a pace, and Miss Klegg came alongside. His relation of the murder of Sir Rowland petrified even his fierce auditors. The worst was over now.
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