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. Every moment or two he bent over his patient. But when Ruth's hand fell gently upon his bony head, he knew that no one in this house would ever offer him a kick. “I don’t see there’s any getting away from the fact that you and I love each other,” he said, slowly. “You ARE a female thing at bottom,” he admitted. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head.
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