PRIVATE FIRST CLASS “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. “I did it for love of you,” he said. “Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. ToC Sir Rowland, meantime, paced his chamber with a quick and agitated step.
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