‘You make me talk, you make me talk. ’ They moved to the door, while the lady shrugged, and then seated herself, glancing from the window into the street below, and then turning again to watch them in their huddle at the other side of the library. 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. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. It was dated from the House of Commons on the previous day. They were both dressed in every respect alike.
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