She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. ” “They were my posters,” Annabel said. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption. He thanked God for this talent of his. Ann Veronica’s universe, which had never been altogether so respectful to her as she could have wished, gave a shout and whirled head over heels. The weed was all right. Jack paused for a moment, and found that his own adventures formed the subject of the ballad.
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