"You think our sex has no feeling, I suppose, Sir," cried Mrs. To-night I locked up my flat at six o’clock. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows. Ann Veronica decided that “hoydenish ragger” was the only phrase to express her. Sampans with fish and fruit and vegetables swarmed about, while overhead gulls wheeled and swooped and circled. 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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