One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. “Look round the table,” she said. His grey eyes burned under his shaggy eyebrows. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. If she kept on, would she make it out of the door? Then what? He could come after her before she could reach the secret passage. Her knees were trembling, her whole frame was shaken with sobs. We will go to the passage and then I shall bind you.
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