When I promised to marry you I thought I could; I thought it was a possible arrangement. “I don’t see that his being a good sort matters. ‘Of course she don’t understand,’ snapped Charvill irascibly. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. The thing is done. Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. But this is like—like walking round a house that looks square and complete and finding an unexpected long wing running out behind. Suddenly she understood.
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