” He stood quite silent for a moment, his eyes fixed upon her face. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. She felt very cool as he opened the door for her, as if she should have chic sunglasses and stiletto heels on, dark red lipstick. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. Hetty, who had periods of lucid expression, put the thing for her from her pillow. In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was fine beyond dispute. Womanhood is sacred to me. Les Misérables, A Tale of Two Cities, Henry Esmond, The Last Days of Pompeii, The Marble Faun … Love stories! Until her arrival in Singapore, she had never read a novel.
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