He got up brusquely. A few more minutes, and she was safe. Sheppard. How many ends had he? Well, she must cease to trouble herself for this imbecile, whom it would give her very much pleasure to shoot. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. I forget the particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. But it is all very different. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that.
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