He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. Together they made their painful way to the door, not even checking, in the effort this cost both, on what Gosse might be doing. ‘Laisse-moi!’ Impatience swamped him. “His back was towards me,” Anna said. ‘In fact, I’ve never met anyone who goaded me to so much violence. ’ Hilary’s gaze was raking the room. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. I decided to go in and wait. “I will do whatever you want,” said Ann Veronica. . .
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