She had not seen Ramage for ten or eleven days, and she was quite ready for a gossip with him. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. “Tell him to drive—anywhere,” she exclaimed. It is no fault of your own that you are not at this moment standing there with your head blown off. Like most officers, he’d had it especially made, for a man who loved danger had need of a precision instrument of defence. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance. Ann Veronica watched her and wondered about her.
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