"All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. . Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. Norris was so frightened that she ordered the postboys to drive back as fast as they could. ‘He had run away with a Frenchwoman, you see, but Everett Charvill—I refer to the general—took care to conceal the matter. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. Instead, they appeared to be at the hygienic level of tramps’ lodging-houses.
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