“I’m just off, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. Before a word could be said, however, a slight noise was heard in the chimney, and Jack with his irons on descended from it. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. It reminded Ann Veronica of having a tooth stopped. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. She stole a few glances at John as she stood and played the pieces. She dismissed the idea of doing so. .
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