But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. There, after protestations of friendliness and helpfulness that were almost ardent, he mounted a little clumsily and rode off at an amiable pace, looking his best, making a leg with his riding gaiters, smiling and saluting, while Ann Veronica turned northward and so came to Micklechesil. “Delicious!” she murmured. She sensed a pelvic exam coming on. It was apparent, and then it faded into the quality of an inevitable necessity. “He spends hours of every day on the pavement below,” Anna answered calmly. Abruptly he gripped her wrist. Was she so fearful still? Roding shrugged and grimaced.
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