This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. ‘Oh, peste,’ she cried out in distressed tones. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. Outside the door stood one of the soldiers. Pearls in the dawn light, flashing and burning! "You don't like your island?" "I hate it!… But, there!"—weariness edging in.
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