He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. It was an impulse. Parbleu, but what grandfathers I have!’ It was stalemate, Gerald thought, irrepressible amusement leaping into his chest. It was one of the most educational disillusionments in Ann Veronica’s career. “No,” she answered. Why? Because Howard Spurlock the author dared not risk the liberty of Howard Spurlock the malefactor; because there were still some dregs in this cup of irony. To shore up a business that never had any foundation, he wanted me to lend him a hundred thousand; and for his sake as well as for mine I had to refuse.
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