The raising of twenty-five pounds was a task altogether beyond her powers. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. Spurlock had not coached her on this line of conduct. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. “You ass and imbecile, Ann Veronica! You female cad! Cad! Cad!. Let us have no more of this humbug. ” Anna’s demeanour was still imperturbable, her marble pallor untinged by the slightest flush of colour.
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