He would have to probe further. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. “It may be her salvation. 8. I have seen you with Anna, and I have not known whether to be glad or sorry. And when Mr. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk.
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