” Ennison turned round sharply. “Grail!” said Ann Veronica, and then: “Oh, yes—of course! Anything but a holy one, I’m afraid. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. . “Dear me!” he said. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. I want to talk to you, and I must return tomorrow.
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