As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. His light brown hair was almost crew cut short. ’ ‘But if she’s going to gaol—’ ‘Just keep watch, like you’ve been told,’ Roding said severely, turning to glare at his sergeant. “You will go and see her,” he begged. He was confined in the Middle Stone Ward, a spacious apartment, with good light and air, situated over the gateway on the western side, and allotted to him, not for his own convenience, but for that of the keepers, who, if he had been placed in a gloomier or more incommodious dungeon, would have necessarily had to share it with him. Pitt endeavoured to dissuade him from attending in person, representing the great risk he would incur from the mob, which was certain to be assembled. As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. Until at last I persuaded him to go to bed. That won’t involve references, as a bank account would—and all that sort of thing. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man.
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