’” “Is ‘Alcide’ still in Paris?” Ennison asked. Was it ruined?’ ‘But yes, it was entirely ruined. To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her.
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