theatre into the street, she rose from the sofa and went to Peter.
Now it was time to move, and, as a woman gathers her things
together, her cloak, her gloves, her opera-glasses, and gets up to go
out of the
theatre into the street, she rose from the sofa and went to Peter.
And it was awfully strange, he thought, how she still had the power, as she came tinkling, rustling, still had the power as she came across the room, to make the moon, which he detested, rise at Bourton on the terrace in the summer sky.
"Tell me," he said, seizing her by the shoulders. "Are you happy, Clarissa? Does Richard-"