“Why on earth,” he asked, “did you hurt me like that?” Ann Veronica did her best to think she had not deliberately attempted to cause him pain. Critically, she stared at her own features. The owner was at the door unhooking a few articles of wearing apparel which he had exposed outside for sale. “I have the right to be here. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Ramage leaned over the gate at Ann Veronica’s side, and for a moment there was silence. "Under the table. Return to him, I say—" "I can't," replied Jack, doggedly. Rank ingratitude, I call it. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships.
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