" "For shame, Mr. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. ” He replied, and put his face in between her legs. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again.
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