He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. 32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them. ‘You wish a reason for jealousy? Eh bien, you may have it. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. He too, when she had disappeared, called a carriage. I don’t know anyone. And then all her restlessness was turned to joy. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones.
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