Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed. “Now look here, Veronica, let us be plain with each other. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. Miss Mary being his only child ’an all, he were in a right pelter.
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