She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. Rain changed to hail, then 154 sleet, then snow. Pearls too! I mean it. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. “No, I’m fine. John knew better. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him.
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