’ The girl held out her hands. There was another phrase which sounded something like 'Gin in a blue-serge coat'. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. She forced herself not to think of John. An admirable alternative presented itself and she sighed, spreading her hands. She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father.
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