She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. The latter took from his pocket a small note-book and pencil. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. ‘While we’re on the subject of age, it may be relevant to your claim to this house. I am sorry that I do not know any one in London.
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