The thing is to get the patient on his feet. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. ” The tired woman shut her eyes tightly for a moment, and then looked with them at Ann Veronica. “You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her.
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