Jack had got into one of the pens at the north side of the chapel. The doorbell tinkled and Michelle grabbed her purse and rushed down the creaky wooden stairs. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. But she could see that Diane watched her more closely now, and in a cat-like way.
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