Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. Recovering himself quickly his instinct of self-defence was quicker than his recollection of Anna’s presence. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Burn your palette and your easel. ” “Of course,” he said, reaching out his hand tentatively for his hat, “I could go away even now. \" She rose to leave the kitchen. “Damn”. Stanley poured wine. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour.
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