The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. A knot of three policemen in conflict with her staggered toward Ann Veronica’s attendants and distracted their attention. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. Some of your sex, I mean. Coat, on the present occasion, he had none, it being more convenient, as well as agreeable to him, to pursue his avocations in his shirtsleeves; but, when fully equipped, he wore a large-cuffed, long-skirted garment, which had once been the property of his master. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out.
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