" "Well, we shall see," replied Jack. 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. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. ” She replied. And now," she added, glancing contemptuously at the woollen-draper, "I'll go to Jack Sheppard.
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