They all left the room. ‘I kissed you once, didn’t I?’ Her pulses jumped and she stared. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. “It seems to me it comes to earning one’s living in the long run,” said Ann Veronica, coloring faintly. He was certain that those lips of hers had never known the natural and pardonable simper of youth. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively.
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