’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. She had never expected John capable of saying such things, of thinking such macabre ideas. “Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. "She has fallen into the villain's hands. She took a shower after a particularly harsh volleyball debacle only to find that her locker had been picked and her outfit of the day, gray sweatpants and a shapeless pink sweater, were gone. The idea of leaving for Mexico had become unbearable, as he was so easy to like and perhaps even easier to love. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is.
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