"Not the sort of stories young ladies should read. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. And yet for all that— It got into Ann Veronica’s nights at last and kept her awake, the perplexing contrast between the advanced thought and the advanced thinker. ” She smiled, sure of herself beyond any pretending, into his troubled eyes. “It’s the centre of the intellectuals. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. ’ ‘Don’t be stuffy, Hilary,’ admonished his betrothed.
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