Wood. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. There, in a little tea and sweetstuff shop, she bought and consumed slowly and absent-mindedly the insufficient nourishment that is natural to her sex on such occasions. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. “You must tell me the truth, and I will see that no harm comes to you. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls.
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