And then she came out into the street, sure only of one thing—that she could not return directly to her lodgings. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. “I will take a carriage,” she said, “and fetch my things. A few more minutes, and she was safe. Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head.
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