Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. “Let me think,” said Ann Veronica. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. Walking into the bedroom, she quickly shed the miniskirt and sweater, folding them without ceremony. Your lamented mother, whose loss I shall ever deplore, perceived my passion and encouraged it. As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods. A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. But it’s only now I’m able to do it.
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