Part 4 At eight that evening Miss Stanley tapped at Ann Veronica’s bedroom door. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. Not then. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon.
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