Anna hailed a bus. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. "We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices. She had only to get through this, to solace Manning as much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate to the test. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. She saw its depraved eyes, but worse were the glittering teeth as it smiled. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. They fight over money all of the time.
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