. ” “Fine. ’ The couple on the sofa stared at her blankly. The jolly part of it was that for the first time in her life so far as London was concerned, she was not going anywhere in particular; for the first time in her life it seemed to her she was taking London in. Her aunt arrived about halfpast ten, in black and with an unusually thick spotted veil. Her hair was washed for her also. It isn’t illusions—for us. I am. And if I don’t, I go mad. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. I don’t care. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. He sent me flowers.
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