The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. Gerald crossed back to the window. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. “That’s all very well when one isn’t the material experimented upon,” Ann Veronica had remarked.
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