But her temper almost flared again when the sergeant spoke. Perhaps that was the reason that they both remained standing. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. ‘We mean you no harm,’ he said reassuringly. Do you know, I envy you. Listen, you. Snatching-up his pistols, he rushed to the door, but to his horror found it fastened. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets.
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