He stood up, apparently intending to put an arm about her, but she stepped back from him quickly. ” Ann Veronica listened with her eyes on the fire. He seemed years younger, and the arrangement of his tie and hair were almost rakish. If only this man had been her father! The world would have meant nothing; the island would have been wide enough. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. You are my prisoner, murderer. Businesswomen in pointy-toed shoes swooned coyly in his direction, tipping their noses over their glossy magazines to admire 273 him. He fixed it. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. But there is need for the proof that I am me, and that is what I look for.
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