And at last Ann Veronica and Miss Miniver came down the dark staircase and out into the foggy spaces of the London squares, and crossed Russell Square, Woburn Square, Gordon Square, making an oblique route to Ann Veronica’s lodging. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. She cried out with the pain of it. “I am sick of it. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. They concern us all. Neither Charvill nor his heir know anything of your presence in England. For this three weeks had been the hardest of her life. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic.
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