Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. . In his condition the boy apparently had been as safe as in the lock-up. I’m a hard young woman. But, whether she likes it or not, I aim to be on hand to get her out of it. A dreamy sense of content crept over him. “Yes,” said Ann Veronica, trying to think where they were, trying to get things plain again that had seemed plain enough in the quiet of the night.
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