The entrance was barred against them; and they had the additional mortification of hearing Sheppard's loud laughter at their discomfiture. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. Nuns, I mean. With this person—who was no other than Mr. The ribald demons that infested the back of Ann Veronica’s mind urged various facetious interrogations upon her, as, for example, where the witness had acquired his prose style. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered.
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