She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy. It ought not to be much. ‘But this is not to my blame, grandpére. I believe you’ve crushed a gland or something. She could not go to him with a preachment against strong drink; she knew from experience that such a plan would be wasted effort. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being.
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