Ann Veronica wondered what her father would do if she were to tell him the full story of her relations with Ramage. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. “If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. “Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night.
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