“And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was saying—a disagreeable question. ‘Your niece, ma’am. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. Until he felt a sharpness digging into his coat at the point of his heart. ’ Melusine hardly dared believe she had heard him aright.
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