He was a little impressed by Ann Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty Widgett. Gave me a purse, and told me to take both of ’em up to Harwich and put them on a packet for Holland. He took his seat at the table, but leaned forward to address her. His frowning gaze came back to her. The girl was flushed with excitement, bright-eyed, and braced for a struggle; her aunt had never seen her looking so fine or so pretty. “Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move.
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