” “And who made the arrangements for you, and sent you there?” Courtlaw asked. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. ‘I know you, Gerald. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. Everybody seemed greatly concerned about the sincerity of Tolstoy.
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