That’s— that’s my private life. Get me an interview with her. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. “I know the place you mean—very good cooking for such an out-of-the-way show. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside.
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