Manning loomed up ever and again into her world, full of a futile solicitude, and almost always declaring she was splendid, splendid, and wishing he could talk things out with her. She was silent, the ghost of a fading smile passed from her lips. ‘It must be painful. One might suppose him turning up; he knew a lot of clever people, and some of them might belong to the class. “It’s a matter of feeling with me. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. Not for me. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. Come to take leave. I want to make you feel that here is a place where the crowd does not clamor nor ill-winds blow.
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