“Shut up, you little faggot. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. ” And she knew that she was safe. I am very, very sorry, but you must listen to me. ” The detective nodded. “Look here, Ann Veronica,” he began. “Who tied this scarf here?” he asked, looking up.
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