"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. “I was sick of the make-believe. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. This helped to restore Ann Veronica’s self-command. But what's to be done?" "The first thing I do," replied Jack, "will be to visit my poor mother in Bedlam. “What’s that for?” He said.
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