In any place her beauty would have been an uncommon thing. The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. ” Elizabeth, the parlormaid, kept coming in to hand vegetables whenever there seemed a chance of Ann Veronica asking for an interview. It was horrible. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles. Ever and again Capes appealed to Ann Veronica. .
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