” “What did you say?” “I said, ‘My dear Veronica! how can you think of such things?’” “And then?” “She had two more cups of tea and some cake, and told me of her walk. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. “You found the cabochon? After all these years?” He asked, incredulous. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.
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