“Don’t we all rather humbug about the coarseness? All we women, I mean,” said she. “I’m just off, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. And at last Ann Veronica and Miss Miniver came down the dark staircase and out into the foggy spaces of the London squares, and crossed Russell Square, Woburn Square, Gordon Square, making an oblique route to Ann Veronica’s lodging. “You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. "Her ladyship—" faltered the attendant.
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