155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. “I don’t know. He knew that he could translate literally. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. I made Hainault’s acquaintance, stood him drinks, lent him money. The policeman raised his voice, slightly agitated. ‘Didn’t mean to say that.
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