"These writer chaps are queer birds. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. So presently they got into a hansom together, and Ann Veronica sat back feeling very luxurious and pleasant, and looked at the light and stir and misty glitter of the street traffic from under slightly drooping eyelids, while Ramage sat closer to her than he need have done, and glanced ever and again at her face, and made to speak and said nothing. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. She threw her arms around Rollo's neck and laid her cheek upon the flea-bitten head. Jack, who had been lingering near the group, now walked on. “Maybe we could swing a scholarship to Boston College for you, you know, with your violin and all. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again.
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