“It’s fine, Michelle. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. It had been Ann Veronica’s lot as the youngest child to live in a home that became less animated and various as she grew up. They stood for a moment in the passage and listened. ” “I promise,” Annabel declared. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. " There was a pause. "One'd think it rained fares, as well as blowed great guns.
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