“You see the pointer?” he asked. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. . Selfishness. The ribald demons that infested the back of Ann Veronica’s mind urged various facetious interrogations upon her, as, for example, where the witness had acquired his prose style. After all, she was a consummate actress. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while. She moved a little nearer to him. She felt he would tell people the way, control traffic, and refuse admission to public buildings with invincible correctness and the very finest explicit feelings possible.
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