On his way he made a slight divergence from the direct route and paused for a moment outside the flat where Anna was now living. They were filthy after the burial. " "I won't reproach you, Jack," said the other, sternly. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror.
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