Mirrors. There was no one stirring in the flats. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. She was quite a beauty, all in white, and I can still see how much you resemble her. ‘Nothing. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict.
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