He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. Ramage went up the Avenue, and she hurried along the path with a beating heart and a disagreeable sense of unsolved problems in her mind. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. "And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed horror. ‘Ah, bah, it is enough,’ she cried, and turning, ran out of the room.
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