As time went on, she began to think Martha had been mistaken. When she saw Ann Veronica she stood for a moment as if entranced, and then advanced with outstretched hands. . . ’ ‘That wasn’t my fault. 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. We simply can’t get away. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. Sheppard. This done, he let himself carefully down by it, and having only a few feet to drop, alighted in safety. “Will you help me?” he asked.
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