Nancy, as though incapable of standing for more than two minutes, pulled out a chair and sat at the table. Her dramatic flight from the old Vicarage to Podmore’s Thatch had apparently left her no time either to comb her hair, powder her nose, or find herself a blouse that matched her skirt. She looked not only distraught but a mess, and Olivia knew a surge of the old, irritated impatience. Whatever happened, good or bad, Nancy always made a drama of it and, moreover, cast herself in the leading role.
