” Ann Veronica reflected. “Julian, please wait. Open it. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t. He stopped us, and, addressing Jack in a taunting tone, said, 'Well, I've been as good as my word!'—'True,' replied Sheppard; 'and I'll be as good as mine!' And so they parted. Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. Sheppard. The little old lady struck like a projectile upon the resounding chest of the foremost of these, and then Ann Veronica had got past and was ascending the steps.
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