They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. She HAD cried, Ann Veronica knew. Grandmothers and grandfathers and uncles and aunts … to love and to coddle lonely little girls. ‘Jacques?’ she called. “To Paris! But why? What do you hope to discover there?” “I do not know,” he answered, “but I am going to see David Courtlaw.
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