Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. “At the Tredgold Women’s College,” said Ann Veronica. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. We both understood that. He had meant to come at his business in a roundabout way, but for that little slip.
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