“Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. But if we had gone under—!” They regarded one another silently, and Ann Veronica had one of her penetrating flashes. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. This is not honourable. The shot had taken effect upon the waterman who rowed the chase. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother.
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