” Mr. She had tried to shift the subject of conversation away from herself and was even managing successfully until Chen the father addressed her. ” “I don’t understand. F. ” It was, Ann Veronica felt, at once absurd and extraordinarily right. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. She drew in a deep breath of the sweet mountain air. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. It was the first—and the last! At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr.
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