. “Solitary walks?” “That’s the point of them. You think you love this other man! No doubt you do love him. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk.
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