Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. ‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald. I am aware that you ran away from there, but—’ ‘Certainly I ran away,’ she said, meeting his gaze with defiance in her own. But it is my fault. The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears. That night, she hunted the alleyways of the old town.
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