For a time Ann Veronica’s attention was diverted by her aunt’s interest in the salted almonds. ‘This journey I do not like,’ she said more loudly. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her. I won't give him a chance. She did not wince. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. ‘Dear me. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him.
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