Ann Veronica woke rather later than usual, and lay awake for some minutes before she remembered a certain resolution she had taken in the small hours. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. Even the horns were easing into the concept and the woodwinds in the second movement were particularly well-orchestrated. ‘You would say that already then you love me?’ His glance was a caress and Melusine’s resolve weakened.
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