I’m okay. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. It was easy to recognize, the one thing that had stayed the same over the years. Her place was not filled; she had been simply noted as absent, and she did a comforting day of admirable dissection upon the tortoise. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. 23 She had always considered herself a simple wool maker’s daughter, but she began to realize that by marrying Gianfrancesco she had unwittingly gained entrance to a separate world. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. He fended these things off from him with the rump of his fourth piece of cake. Gwen and Alice were fantastically friendly, which seemed to annoy him, and Mrs. “Good God!” he exclaimed. A dozen shynesses and intellectual barriers were being outflanked or broken down in her mind.
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