“You are developing far too retentive a memory for praises,” said Ann Veronica. For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. . And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. Ann Veronica took off her jacket and sat down in the corner chair, and leaned forward to look into the great hazy warm brown cavity of the house, and Ramage placed his chair to sit beside her and near her, facing the stage. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed. .
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