He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. ” Her voice trembled with suppressed passion. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. I believe—I believe that I must risk it. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding.
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