“I wonder what happened. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. You disgust me. Those I don’t mind, though, the games. You know the sort of thing. Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. At last in a street near the Hampstead Road she hit upon a room that had an exceptional quality of space and order, and a tall woman with a kindly face to show it. No doubt there’s some little mistake.
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