“I’m just off, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. He found that the skiff had been dashed against one of the buttresses of the bridge. Jack, who had formerly been in the custody of both these gentlemen, gave them a very cordial welcome; apologized for the sorry room he was compelled to receive them in; and when they took leave, insisted on treating them to a double bowl of punch, which they were now discussing with the upper jailer, Mr. She took it for granted Ann Veronica wore stays—mild stays, perhaps, but stays, and thought no more of the matter.
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