I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. "The murder was committed after the robbery of my house by Sheppard and his accomplices. She recalled him. ‘It’s my belief she is a nun. Sheppard snatched back her hand from his grasp, and exerted all her force to repel his advances. At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. ” “What did you say?” “I said, ‘My dear Veronica! how can you think of such things?’” “And then?” “She had two more cups of tea and some cake, and told me of her walk. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room.
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