‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. “You would have been treated differently in the Old World, the one where I came from. Mike was drinking a cup of black coffee. Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever. ’ Speeding down the two flights of stairs, Gerald mentally thanked God that it was the practice of himself and Roding—in case of emergency, of which this was a prime example—to stable their horses at the posting inns all the way to London. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive.
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