She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. He was always deceived by these rustlings which promised wind and seldom fulfilled that promise. This time he couldn't get far. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence.
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