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It was not an affair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence and defiance. He was struck disagreeably by Ramage’s air of gallant consideration and Ann Veronica’s self-possessed answers. “You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica. “Did she? I’m sorry, Mike. But you had better know the truth to start with. He began munching his water-chestnuts—a small brown radish-shaped vegetable, with the flavour of coconut—that grow along the river brims. Kneebone. That’s one thing clear. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. Tell him the truth, Annabel. Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared.
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