“If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. ‘And I’ll say it as often as I choose, you confounded impertinent wench! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m your grandfather, girl. She began to draw on her gloves thoughtfully. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. ‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband. Wood, leaping from the bed. That wrappered life, as you call it—we’ve burned the confounded rags! Danced out of it! We’re stark!” “Stark!” echoed Ann Veronica. Not a word had been exchanged between the two boys on the road.
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