You are nothing of the sort. She regarded the young man coldly. She went to the post-office and drew out and sent off her money to Ramage. Most unsatisfactory. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. He would stare at her intensely when he was certain his parents were not looking in his direction. ‘Yes, that is what the nuns they said of me. A shiver slid down inside her.
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