He recognised Anna, and at once addressed her. “Neither Sydney nor I would think of such a thing. "Has any one been here?" he asked. Everything was very neat; it had evidently been straightened up and kept for her. The ribald demons that infested the back of Ann Veronica’s mind urged various facetious interrogations upon her, as, for example, where the witness had acquired his prose style. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. He breathed a little sigh of satisfaction. She stepped backwards. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure.
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