Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. “Let go!” said Ann Veronica, through her teeth, strenuously inflicting agony, and he cried out sharply and let go and receded a pace. She could tell it was new territory for him and he might lose the nerve to take them off himself, without the aid of drink. He moved her dress from her shoulders and off her torso. The rest of his attire was nondescript.
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