She crushed the letter in her hand. A stiff, formally-cut coat of cinnamon-coloured cloth, with rows of plate buttons, each of the size of a crown piece, on the sleeves, pockets, and skirts, reached the middle of his legs; and his costume was completed by the silver-hilted sword at his side, and the laced hat under his left arm. A pity, en effet, that she dare not truly desire him to rescue her. She seemed to be making some sort of inventory. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. The assemblage which was gathered together was almost countless. . “Go to London,” said Ann Veronica. ‘Have I not said so?’ ‘No, as it happens. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint shudder stir her shoulders.
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