” She side-stepped into his living room from behind a square white column. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. Gerald watched its approach with vague interest, which quickened when he saw that it was drawing up outside the very house out of which he had just stepped. Then she reverted to the trousers. He was disquieted. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. She shuddered as his naked body pressed against her. I am going to make a fresh start. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. Night and day have been alike to me. But, in spite of her attractions, we shall address ourselves to the younger, and more interesting couple. "Suppose we go and have tea? I'd like to take you to a teahouse I know, but we'll go to the Victoria instead.
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