The flat was apparently empty. He had taken it back. All the influences about her worked with her own predisposition and against all the traditions of her home and upbringing to deal with the facts of life in an unabashed manner. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky emptiness intervened between the ceremony and the walls. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. There are boats on the lake and shady depths and wildernesses of pine-wood. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. I came to see you on my own account. I can’t even make myself care.
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