Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. “You are the type that I want to marry someday, you’ve got a beautiful body, such pretty eyes. O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawing upon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters. Ann Veronica was by this time quite shocked at her own thoughts, and yet they would go on with their freaks. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. ’ She pronounced the name with painstaking accuracy, Gerald noticed. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. They were silent and no longer observant, being more or less exhausted by the tedious action of the chairs.
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