"No," rejoined Thames, "I won't be treated like a common felon, if I can help it. Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips. There is the key. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. She appeared to be considering. .
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