Carefully abstaining from thrusting against each other, Ann Veronica and her father began an absurdly desperate struggle, the one to open the door, the other to keep it fastened. “For Heaven’s sake, Dunster, don’t let her out of the carriage, or hansom, or whatever she came in. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme. “And by what right do you do anything of the sort?” “No right at all,” he admitted. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. “Number 13, please, cabman.
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