Ann Veronica intervened a little in the novelist discussion with a defence of Esmond and a denial that the Egoist was obscure, and when she spoke every one else stopped talking and listened. It was now a quarter past twelve. CHAPTER XVI. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school.
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