Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. She exhorted Ann Veronica not to become one of “those unsexed intellectuals, neither man nor woman. So that way is closed. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. Winifred, accordingly, left the room, and a servant being despatched to the nearest tavern, soon afterwards returned with a crown bowl of the ambrosian fluid. She took it for granted Ann Veronica wore stays—mild stays, perhaps, but stays, and thought no more of the matter. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations.
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