One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. ‘But this Englishwoman,’ asked the man Valade, his puzzlement plain to see, ‘who was she?’ The question irritated Charvill. F. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced.
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