” “Rum,” said Ann Veronica. ” “Too much character, and too little sentiment,” he answered. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. “Where have you been, young lady? I know your kind, I know you sneak out every night! How long do you think it could go on? You little murdering slut! Whore! I found you out, found your blouse! Evidence! How many of your johns have you killed why you have lived at my house? Huh? They’re going to put you away for a long time, honey. "But, though the storm has spared him, I will not. It is abominable—” “What is the use of keeping up this note of indignation, Ann Veronica? Here I am! I am your lover, burning for you. I will have nothing to do with you.
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