She HAD cried, Ann Veronica knew. ‘Oh! little Vee!’ he cried, ‘little Vee!’ and put his face between his hands and sat still for a long time before he broke out again. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. For some seconds of voluminous thinking they looked at the ring between them, and neither spoke. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion.
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