” She pulled a small blue box out of the pocket of her hoodie. Ann Veronica stared for a moment in amazement at this dark-green object that clashed as it was put down. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. I suppose I ought to have been a man. "At length, my vengeance is complete. You will be—my wife. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII.
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