She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. ‘Parbleu, the bullet is still inside you,’ Melusine guessed, remembering how the Mother Abbess had diagnosed Leonardo’s suffering when he had first come to the convent. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. “I want to inquire,” said Ann Veronica. ” “Well, I take it we’re straight again,” said Capes with a note of relief, and assumed an easier position on the edge of her table.
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