It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. Jonathan stepped behind a curtain. He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. Following her lead, he fortified himself with a swallow of the excellent Madeira before responding. She assumed with a kind of mesmeric force all the propositions that Ann Veronica wanted her to define. ” Ann Veronica read this letter through with grave, attentive eyes.
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