CHAPTER XXXI. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. “I’m ready,” said Ann Veronica, closing her microscope-box with a click, and looking for one brief instant up the laboratory. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. ” “Some little tiff?” “No; but I don’t think I shall see them. I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty, struggle.
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