Ann Veronica was much impressed by a mighty trying on and altering and fussing about Alice’s “things”—Alice was being re-costumed from garret to cellar, with a walking-dress and walking-boots to measure, and a bride’s costume of the most ravishing description, and stockings and such like beyond the dreams of avarice—and a constant and increasing dripping into the house of irrelevant remarkable objects, such as— Real lace bedspread; Gilt travelling clock; Ornamental pewter plaque; Salad bowl (silver mounted) and servers; Madgett’s “English Poets” (twelve volumes), bound purple morocco; Etc. I shall lose my fees and the laced coat. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. Slowly she released the hammer on the pistol, uncocking it, and Gerald became conscious that he had been holding his breath. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir.
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