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The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. ‘She gave me four separate identities for herself, you must know, including Prudence, before I managed to get at her real name. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow.
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