‘I disgust you, eh? Very well, then. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. Just now my best ones are all taken. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. ’ ‘Who, Joan, who? Of whom do you speak?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham. Her hair was the one part of her that did not exude the air of wealth.
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