Miss Stanley threw aside a black cloak to reveal a discreet and dignified arrangement of brown silk, and then embraced Ann Veronica with warmth. "Old Morgan the trader," she explained, "used to save me Tit-Bits. Sheppard. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. He kissed her once on the lips with a passion of which, during all their days of married life, he had given no sign. Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger. How I could have been such a fool I’ll never know. For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. Supposing they find you and take you away?—and she unprepared? Have you thought of that? Why did you marry her?" "God alone knows!" "And you don't love her! What kind of a woman do you want, anyhow?"—with rising anger. “I mean it.
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