Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. And—the idea of committees, of hustings, of agenda-papers!” “I don’t see why the responsibility of beauty should all be shifted on to the women,” said Ann Veronica, suddenly remembering a part of Miss Miniver’s discourse. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. She felt a new warmth in her blood, a strange sense of elation crept over her.
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