It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. Even if he were an old friend, you couldn't afford to do it. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. She smiled. She was in excellent spirits, and it was not until she had taken off her hat, and was considering the question of dinner or no dinner, that she remembered that another day had passed, and she was not a whit nearer being able to pay her tomorrow’s bill. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. Afterwards we started for déjeuner in a motor.
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