\" Michelle's shoulders sank, feeling the weight of the pack. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. Not all of us, but some of us. He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so agreeable because she had come back again. She touched bow to strings, playing a fifth. Why should they be? She and Ramage were friends, very good friends.
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