Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. She laughed altogether in her old manner. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. ” “I’ll try not to see him again,” said Ann Veronica. Now then," he added more calmly, "I am ready to die.
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