‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend. She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. Annabel is my only sister, you know, almost my only relative. Yet her embarrassment was only a passing thing. “I first saw you crossing the river Arno, after a spring rain had spoiled the day for everyone except the ducks. “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand.
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