Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. Had he been listening inside? ‘What is amiss?’ ‘That Frenchie, sir. Jerking forward, she jabbed backwards. Which is also puzzling. Jonathan smiled contemptuously. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning.
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