Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. K-kimble, sir,’ stammered the lad. There was a couple who disappeared. She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps.
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