She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. He watched her constantly, trapped her in corners and slept with his arms locking her like a human cage. For on reaching the second floor, a swishing sound came to Gerald’s ears, as of someone moving about. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind.
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