He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. “I’ll come to the station,” said Ann Veronica. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. Dizziness overcame him like anesthetic and he slept. It was of no use, she let him do it as she could not be strangled. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. For if the likeness between the sisters was remarkable, the likeness between this girl and the poster which he had come from studying was more remarkable still. For a long time even the strong pipe tobacco (with which McClintock supplied him) possessed a coconut flavour.
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