” His arms were around her. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. ” John said. ” He released her hand and talked in eager undertones against an auditory background of urgency and distress. She winced as he thrust the fact at her, was about to answer, and checked herself. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. . There’s nothing a girl can do that isn’t sweated to the bone. I went to the theatre that night.
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