Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. “I want to speak to you about a little thing, Vee,” said Mr. He died in the war. She found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table. Sheppard, averting her face to hide her tears. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. The other lay unconscious in a heap.
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