Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. “Just come to that seat now you are here, Miss Stanley, and look down the other path; there’s a vista of just the common sort. I wish I could get you to imitate Thames Darrell. ‘This is insupportable. So far as regards his attire, Baptist was not seen to advantage. It’s the sort of way a woman always does gloss over her ethical positions. The man was my husband. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. Knock on the partition if you want anything during the might.
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