She spotted her opportunity. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. "Keep off, you accursed jade!" roared Jonathan, "—off, I say, or—" And he struck her a violent blow with his clenched hand. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. Something insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew the man was there. Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me. “That he should be in the same world with me!” said Ann Veronica, reduced to reading the list of good things the British Tea-Table Company had priced for its patrons. Sebastian's arms were about her, his fists pumping her stomach as she coughed forth saltwater from her belly and lungs.
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