He chuckled. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge. “Why should I bear the burden of your wickedness? Who knows what might come of it? I shall permit nothing of the sort. But it seemed that their presence was not even suspected. A bowl of roses, just brought by Ann Veronica, adorned the communal dressing-table, and Ann Veronica was particularly trim in preparation for a call she was to make with her aunt later in the afternoon. Meantime, as the doctor was splitting his breakfast orange, he heard a commotion in his office, two rooms removed: volleys of pidgin English, one voice in protest, the other dominant. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. What do you think people will make of that? What will this lover of yours make of that?” At intervals Ann Veronica demanded to go, declaring her undying resolve to repay him at any cost, and made short movements doorward. .
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