Fairbanks, AK, 99712. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. To-day he selected the girl, and gave her the lead-chair. Her personal maidservant, the first she had ever had in her life, was joyful for her. ‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours.
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