He probably imagines himself to be a thousand times worse off than he actually is. "What for?" demanded Wood. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. “You will not even answer my letters. Gerald guessed she was biting her tongue on an explosive retort as she eyed him. But let that verse tell my secret. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified.
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