It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. Carefully abstaining from thrusting against each other, Ann Veronica and her father began an absurdly desperate struggle, the one to open the door, the other to keep it fastened. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. " The spinster had no retort to offer such directness. No matter how swiftly he pursued this riddle, he could not bring it to a halt. You denied it, remembering that I had called myself Anna. She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before.
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