‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. He, next, tried to clamber up the flying buttresses and soffits of the pier, in the hope of reaching some of the windows and other apertures with which, as a man-of-war is studded with port-holes, the sides of the bridge were pierced. He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she had been too old to sit upon his knee. "That is good. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea.
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