“What have I been all this time?” she asked herself, and answered, “Just stark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag of religion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!” It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone of conduct. “Don’t know me, eh? I like that. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. The young lady I was with is not married at all. Born on a South Sea island, she said. No one. She shuddered, adding confidentially, ‘You wouldn’t get me in there now, mind.
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