Give us that—” Ann Veronica came in with a certain disregard of Miss Miniver. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train. She read for half an hour, then closed the book because Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas.
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