There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. “Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa.
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