Her mother informed her of the betrothal on the first painful day of her menarche, shortly after her eleventh birthday. ’ She turned, her eyes narrowed. The late afternoon, en effet. She tightened her bandage and sat back, biting her lip. “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand. ‘I believe that. ” “There’s quite enough still,” said Ann Veronica, smiling, “that one doesn’t understand. My, um, my curfew. ‘There were the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme. I hope I may never come near her.
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