It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. "Enough's as good as a feast. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out.
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