Jiggle-joggle, jiggle-joggle…! For each pause she was grateful. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. A girl—at my age—is grown-up. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. What you say is probably all true and necessary. Above all, beware of Sir Rowland Trenchard. Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation.
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