There was a gulf of eight years between her and the youngest of her brace of sisters—an impassable gulf inhabited chaotically by two noisy brothers. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. Ramage talked always about women or some woman’s concern, and very much about Ann Veronica’s own outlook upon life. Gerald instantly took her arm and guided her back to her chair. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. Just as Hogarth got to the door, the turnkey stopped him. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. Move.
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