” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. “By God!” said Ann Veronica for the first time in her life. “—but this cannot be. I don’t think you understand. She was tempted to touch him in the car as they drove to the empty house, but she refrained for fear of causing a car accident. Turning, she flew for the nearest door. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself. Wood heard the cry. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. When he reached the happy ending, he waited. As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. A remittance man. The vast area in front of Westminster Hall was thronged with people, and it was only by a vigorous application of their staves that the constables could force a passage for the vehicle.
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