” Sir John’s head bent lower and lower. “Eight, Cavendish Square. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. He let go of the girl’s arm.
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