Ann Veronica, who knew her dress became her, dropped a curtsy to her father’s regard. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. They returned to the castle, neither of them speaking. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do. I'll send you word when I catch him.
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