Except for one memorable school excursion to Paris, Ann Veronica had never yet been outside England. Reluctantly she found him beguiling after he had eaten. He was going to tell me something— and he shut up. I am a thing to be used. He was silent. His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. The boy was bright and inquisitive as he was subtle. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. The Ragged Edge. He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. All right, I’m coming. Yes, of course.
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