And it’s no use thinking he’d stop her. “I am the most foolish of men. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. “I’m thirsty. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. The Well Hole. This was his humiliation as well as hers.
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