Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. The farmer had become obsessed with her and asked her to marry. The only occasional presence other than a skeleton crew of servants was Sebastianus, who occasionally joined Gianfrancesco in the hunt for stag, rabbit, or quail, and then went away for another fortnight.
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