"I understand," she said. Anna was more difficult. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. "Fool!" he cried, "do you think I wouldn't have secured you before this if I hadn't some motive for my forbearance?" "And that motive is fear," replied Jack contemptuously. Five minutes ago, his butler had entered the green saloon, an austere apartment, with dark forest-green wallpaper flocked with a swirling design, and heavy mahogany furniture. Of course, it really signified nothing in this careless part of the world that she was travelling alone. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. “My name is certainly Pellissier,” she said, “but I am very sorry—I do not recognize you in the least.
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