Presently McClintock came in. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. “Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. “Not too bad. Finally she fell into reflection. If I had been quite quiet and white and dignified, wouldn’t it have been different? Would he have dared?.
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