"If you arrest him, you must arrest me also. “Mr. Kneebone,—pray go!" implored Winifred. "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. I have said good-bye to it all. ’ Upon which, she darted through the library door, galvanising both the sergeant and his two militiamen into action. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. .
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