In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. Voilà tout. Managers and accountants are always shifting about, so he tells me. Some day, when the rewards of literature permit the arduous research required, the Campaign of the Women will find its Carlyle, and the particulars of that marvellous series of exploits by which Miss Brett and her colleagues nagged the whole Western world into the discussion of women’s position become the material for the most delightful and amazing descriptions. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. She swallowed hard. The washerwoman reported that she had seen a man one day riding out for an early morning hunt, but was unsure of his identity. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again.
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