Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. Presently she became aware of footsteps hurrying after her, and glanced back to find Miss Klegg, a little out of breath, in pursuit. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. Everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief in the neighborhood, no one wanted to see how those kids would grow up. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. . One keeps rules in order to be one’s self. I’ve seen Brewis Charvill, by the by. I applaud your prudence: it is, however, needless.
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