“That’s exhilarating,” said Ann Veronica. " "I have often conjured up some frightful vision of the dead," murmured the knight, "but I never dreamed of an interview with the living. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. Ann Veronica, after a last survey of the dinner appointments, followed him, rustling, came to his side by the high brass fender, and touched two or three ornaments on the mantel above the cheerful fireplace. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. I think not, Annabel. Stanley. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. Of course, why not? She would be honest, anyhow! She turned her eyes to Manning.
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