Then she uttered a strangled, ‘Espéce de bête!’ and burst into tears. For a time Ann Veronica’s attention was diverted by her aunt’s interest in the salted almonds. But next moment, Captain Roding put up her back. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. Here lay a heap of knockers of all sizes, from the huge lion's head to the small brass rapper: there, a collection of sign-boards, with the names and calling of the owners utterly obliterated. “It means that I have had enough of this slavery,” she declared. He suspected a trap.
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