Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on
a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. The island had evidently grown round this lagoon,
approached it gradually from the volcanic upheaval—an island of coral and lava. Tell me
that again. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always
looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and
raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her,
echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and
enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. "Whose child can this be?"
"How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly.
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