“How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. Women, she had been taught, who exposed the flesh of their bodies under the eyes of man were in a special catagory of the damned. The class laughed, a few putting their hands to their foreheads in a military salute to mock her. Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy.
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