” Ann Veronica thought. Show him no quarter, Poll. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her.
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