Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. If, around noon, a coconut proa landed, the boys made no effort to unload. Ann Veronica was not aware of this literary side of her teacher; she had a little tinge of annoyance at Miss Garvice’s advantage. “I don’t know. Every inch of the house felt safe to her, small and welcoming. She killed a man who was squatting outside of a freezing brick shanty on the southern edge of Chicago as he waited for his dealer. Unbelievable the pranks that she pulled—-you should have told me! I told her to leave you 157 the hell alone or she would be dealing with me next, I dropped a hint about telling her parents about her in detail. “You’re a student, perhaps?” said the tall woman.
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