She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff. We are amiable to one another, but we don’t mix. There, in a little tea and sweetstuff shop, she bought and consumed slowly and absent-mindedly the insufficient nourishment that is natural to her sex on such occasions. ” “But it may matter very much indeed,” Anna declared. .
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