She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. Ann Veronica realized that she was alone with the world. It was painted in the early seventeenth century by a minor artist named DuPre. A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. ’ ‘Yes, but how are you going to find her?’ ‘I will ask—’ She broke off.
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