‘Sapristi. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. ‘See that writing table? Go and look in the drawer there. There are two ways to go in, you understand. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger. A medley of motives warred in her, and it was certainly not one of the least of these that she knew herself to be passionately in love with Capes; at moments she had a giddy intimation that he was beginning to feel keenly interested in her. " "From whom?" vociferated Trenchard.
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