Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. It was an easy one to smell early on, Sebastian had taught her: anything reproductive. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. . I don't know anything about you.
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