” She turned a firelit face to her husband. “Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. She opened her mouth and inhaled water. “Don’t we all rather humbug about the coarseness? All we women, I mean,” said she. But it's French manners, I suppose. She allowed herself to be ejected, therefore, and retired to the parlour after cleansing the blood from her hands and her own slight wound in the kitchen. Why would militia be infesting the place? And he must by now be aware of my interest.
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