They went first to a hotel, and then out again on to the boulevards. Her aunt arrived about halfpast ten, in black and with an unusually thick spotted veil. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. “That he should be in the same world with me!” said Ann Veronica, reduced to reading the list of good things the British Tea-Table Company had priced for its patrons. He had been on the point of leaving the restaurant. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. “Then—then we can talk things out. Her heart swelled to suffocation. The job is easy. His long struggle with himself, his avoidance of her were quite unnecessary. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. Her eyes travelled about the room as if in appeal to the very chairs.
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