‘In love? I? Don’t be ridiculous. . ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. Cool and sunny, it seemed that God himself smiled upon that day, the sunbeams streaming through the magnificent arches dustily as the priest murmured in soporific Latin. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes.
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