“You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. "Quilt Arnold, is that you?" "It is, Sir," sputtered the janizary. Think of those days in Paris. I call myself a man of the world, a man of many experiences, but I never knew what love meant—until I met your sister.
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