‘Wait! No time for that. I'm nearly nabbing you. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand. "Because it's not like you," was her answer.
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