Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. CHAPTER XXXII. Ann Veronica found herself in a little stirring crowd of excited women, whispering and tittering and speaking in undertones. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. I get your side all right. She admitted her pleasure to Ramage. With this she now entered. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand.
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