Ann Veronica was excited and puzzled, with a sense of a strange and disconcerting new light breaking over her relations with Ramage. She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. It gave her great satisfaction to hear that Madame Chamberlain had spent a night in the county jail, even if the nocturnal activities picked right up again after two weeks. “He’s got almost to like it. “Indeed!” Anna answered indifferently. That would not help her. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. If individuality means anything it means breaking bounds— adventure. “If I was the world I think I should have put down a crimson carpet, and asked you to say what you wanted, and generally walk over me.
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