’ ‘You need not be a nun,’ he said, leaning towards her. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. . She had never dreamed of such decadence, never imagined that young people could be so happy and healthy. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. I should say that having a doubt was enough to condemn it. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. Courtlaw.
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