Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats. “All your dreadful scientific things?” he said, with a smile that Miss Klegg thought extraordinarily kindly. I would have heard her. ToC On the night of Friday, the 26th of November, 1703, and at the hour of eleven, the door of a miserable habitation, situated in an obscure quarter of the Borough of Southwark, known as the Old Mint, was opened; and a man, with a lantern in his hand, appeared at the threshold. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. Ann Veronica had come down thinking of nothing in the world but her inflexible resolution to go to the dance in the teeth of all opposition. You are infatuated.
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