She had finally managed to start breaking him down. She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. He saw the flames burst from the windows, and perhaps in that maddening spectacle suffered torture equivalent to some of the crimes he had committed. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth.
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