You see, I—I am a woman worshipper. It is so ridiculous. They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. “When they tap the roof,” she said, in a voice of authority, “you are to come out. But the Remenhams in the days of Charles the First, with the need for an escape route from Cromwell’s increasingly victorious forces, had cut a trapdoor through its floor into the cellars below, and thence hewn the long rough passageway that led underground right outside the boundary of the estate. This man and he were alike, and about the same age. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it.
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