I loved her and made love to her, and I don’t think she quite loved me back in the same way. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. ‘But you are idiot.
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