“Eight, Cavendish Square. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. John has made me so happy, I’ve been losing myself in him. Anthony, when God Himself had found only one man strong enough for that! McClintock shook his head violently, as if to dismiss this dream he was having. Nothing is settled upon. She felt sharp animal teeth pierce her above her shoulder. And then, “They seem changed. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. She was acquiring truths, but in a series of shocks rather than by the process of analysis. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.
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