“I shall never marry,” said Ann Veronica, resolutely; “I’m not the sort. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. Hurry to me, I entreat you. We don’t consider each other; we needn’t. . ‘Jacques?’ she called. What a pity! But why? There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it: that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. She studied the face and tried to visualize the body, clothed in the dress which had created the spinsters' astonishment.
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