He forced her arm back, away, stretching it out to keep the weapon at bay. Ann Veronica was one of the few young people—and one must have young people just as one must have flowers—one could ask to a little gathering without the risk of a painful discord. After passing Tottenham Court Road, very few houses were to be seen on the right hand, opposite Wardour Street it was open country. Both the fugitive and his chasers embarked on the Thames. Dinner was quite uneventful. One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. So he shut his eyes. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. After that time nothing shall save you. Her hair was the one part of her that did not exude the air of wealth.
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