Wood. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. I didn’t allow myself to see things as they were in those days; now I do. The gardens were tidy and geometric, each avenue with a different purpose: flowers for cutting, herbs, brightly colored vegetables. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. Remote little Ann Veronica! She would never know the heart of that child again! That child had loved fairy princes with velvet suits and golden locks, and she was in love with a real man named Capes, with little gleams of gold on his cheek and a pleasant voice and firm and shapely hands.
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