Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. Girls who had envied her former position as John’s amour passed no opportunity to utter cryptic remarks as she sat in Study Hall, walked down hallways, or rinsed her hands in the bathroom. Teas he contributed to the commissariat of Ann Veronica’s campaign—quite a number of teas. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. ‘And nnever would you have f-found it. Of you—an angel with one wing.
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