She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. She had never understood how much knowledge had been kept from her because she was a woman and even began to doubt the methods of the Church, something she never would have dared before. “The conventions do not matter one little bit. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. ‘Unless he is himself a man of substance. And, stretching out his hand, he lifted the dark object from the flood. He made a note of the idea and stored it away. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death. ’ ‘And where do you propose to go?’ enquired Gerald carefully. Let me run you for six months. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights.
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