In an instant, she turned on him. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. It warms me, and lights me, and fills my world with flowers. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. Anyway, I only smoke occasionally. She could even think of what had happened. But also this must not go on. But this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance.
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