Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. “Don’t fence with me,” Anna cried fiercely. ‘This is altogether insupportable!’ She dug a hand into the recesses of the petticoat of her riding habit and a moment later Gerald found himself once again confronting the barrel of her overlarge and tarnished pistol. “It’s best,” he said, “to make it a good round sum. What CAN she put before that?” His voice began to rise. “Have you ever been to the opera, Ann Veronica?” said Ramage. “I just came to you and put myself in your hands. Instead of which they walked sharply. With a strong tendency to satire, but without a particle of malice or ill-nature in its display. I am really in earnest. With an open hand, he slapped her face.
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