Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. True, on board the ships she had watched young men from afar, but only with that normal curiosity which is aroused in the presence of any new species. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. ” She became aware of her aunt, through the panes of the greenhouse, advancing with an air of serene unconsciousness from among the raspberry canes.
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