The boy she had loved was gone. “Oh dear, I’m not dressed. She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. As the wedding neared, she bought some finer things: a veal roast for supper, a single pearl for the dowry. I don’t think you understand. ‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness.
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