There are way-stations—even terminals. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. “Hello!” said Ann Veronica, with arms akimbo and a careless, breathless manner. If they come here to walk around, they will hear us. Though meant to produce a totally different effect, the narrative seemed to excite the risible propensities rather than the commiseration of his auditor; and when Mr. Your aunt liked the pheasant.
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