We've ridden post all the way, and I'm horribly tired, or you wouldn't have mastered me so easily. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. “How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall. But not so much a pig as that man. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief.
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