No, this was imbecile. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. “You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. “You are coming in, aren’t you, Sydney?” “If I may,” he answered. What he there noticed occasioned a marked change in his demeanour. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement.
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