Then the girl was heading past the inn and Roding marched down to confront her. Something about the girl had suggested an idea. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. It plucked shingles from the school building, threatening to shake them all loose one by one like rotting teeth. Ann Veronica passed from her aunt to her father, and put her arms about him and kissed his cheek. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. “Have to take your turn,” he remarked laconically.
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