To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. One would think I had agreed to her going. The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting lightly on her waist. . There was no need to be afraid for me. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. I kicked the living shit out of him.
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