I wasn’t. “I cannot say who he is,” said Ann Veronica, “but he is a married man. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. “Anyway, enough about that. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. ‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald.
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