Her sister Alice seemed to have developed a religious sense away there in Yorkshire, and made appeals that had no meaning for Ann Veronica’s mind. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. “No,” she said, under her breath, “you can’t face it. It was you! It was exactly you, but it was probably the photo they thought it was your mother! I dug it up after combing the Reader’s Guide To Periodical Literature for like, six hours straight. ‘One would take it that the house had been ransacked. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. ” “She has changed a good deal,” Anna admitted.
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