She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. I can't bear it. The worst was over now. Wood grasped his companion's arm to attract his attention to this unexpected means of escape. The ribald demons that infested the back of Ann Veronica’s mind urged various facetious interrogations upon her, as, for example, where the witness had acquired his prose style. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. The months that followed September spiraled downward. ‘No! Let me alone!’ ‘It is not safe!’ ‘That is entirely my affair, and not your affair in the least,’ she told him haughtily. That was the glorious if bewildering truth.
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