But I'm not worrying about that. “You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. “Heavens, look at the time!” she exclaimed. She surveyed accommodation that seemed at first merely austere, and became more and more manifestly inadequate as the moments fled by. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live.
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