“Hospital? What for? What’s the matter with me?” Courtlaw’s voice sank to a whisper. There'll be busy days and idle. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. “Not much. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. '—'Oh! yes we are,' says he.
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