The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be. Sheila, a normally sound sleeper, woke one night to find both her husband and her foster daughter had snuck from their beds, and this infuriated her. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. ” Anna was not late, but her heart sank within her when she entered the drawingroom. She knew, too, she must not hesitate. “Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother. She gently placed the car back upon the ground. There was a third lady among the younger set.
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