She dropped into a chair by the piano, and rested her elbows on the
curved lid of the piano.
"You're frightfully cruel!" she sobbed, hiding her face.
He fidgeted away to the larger of the two windows, which was bayed, so
that the room could boast a view of the sea. On the floor he noticed an
open book, pages downwards. He picked it up. It was the poems of
Crashaw, an author he had never read but had always been intending to
read. Outside, the driver of his cab was bunching up his head and
shoulders together under a large umbrella, upon which the rain
spattered. The flanks of the resigned horse glistened with rain.
"You needn't talk about cruelty!" he remarked, staring hard at the
signboard of an optician opposite. He could hear the faint clanging of
church bells.