In her usual style, she interviewed him for his life and was pleased that he liked nothing more than to talk about himself. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. Soho! boys. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. “I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said. I have been insulted, and cursed at, and threatened with both pistol and dagger. The doctor laughed. Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion.
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