‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. 47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone.
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