Ramage leaned over the gate at Ann Veronica’s side, and for a moment there was silence. If he laid his own suspicions boldly before the girl, and in the end the boy came clean, he would always be haunted by the witless cruelty of the act. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. That, I think, is manifest. You’re of age— you’re of age. Then it was the woman herself who was changed. They were enormously pleased with one another; they found each other beyond measure better than they had expected, if only because of the want of substance in mere expectation. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. The latter took from his pocket a small note-book and pencil. Never! And they don’t know it! They have no idea of it.
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