Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. “I wish I didn’t swear. Miss Stanley walked round the garden thinking, and presently house and garden reverberated to Ann Veronica’s slamming of the front door. “She seems an unusually clever girl,” said Ramage. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. She is like some character out of Phra the Phoenician: she's been buried for thirty years and just been excavated.
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