Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference. "But you mustn't indulge these gloomy thoughts. They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in.
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