” Ann Veronica had remained standing while her aunt spoke. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. This was his humiliation as well as hers. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. ” “The explanation seems to me to be reasonably simple,” Annabel said coldly. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. ‘Don’t be silly.
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