“I think,” she said, “that I rather like what you have said. Never be downhearted. ‘How did you know that Mary was his daughter?’ Gerald hesitated. Even there a woman never gets a fair chance. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. After knocking for some time at the door without effect, he tried the latch, and to his surprise found it open. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. She had never felt so cold, she felt even colder than she had in the water. It is my business to know most people. For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. They had been playing tennis, with his manifest intention looming over her. .
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