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She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch. “Always planning for death. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. The necessity of defending herself and assuming a confident and secure tone did much to dispell the sense of being exposed and indefensible in a huge dingy world that abounded in sinister possibilities. I am a murderer. His frowning gaze came back to her. I can withstand sunlight. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. ‘Keep your distance! You dare to tell me I cannot refuse?’ He glared at the girl.
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