She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. ‘Now, madame, tell me all about your life in France. After all, why need one look down. She realized that he was the sort of man one does not think much about at dinners. Cursing under his breath, Gerald moved swiftly across and dragged her away. He only stays here for you, hoping in vain. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. “It’s THE Society!” said Miss Miniver.
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