She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire. It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence. ‘Long enough for you to see Frith for me. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. There is a place—This isn’t the place. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. I wonder ——” “London is a huge place,” Brendon said. Cathy sighed. They went first to a hotel, and then out again on to the boulevards. Ruth had lived in a world without caresses.
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