Beside me on Anna’s table was a pistol. Teddy overtook her, a little out of breath, his innocent face flushed, his straw-colored hair disordered. She relented out of exhaustion, yet he would not let her near Marina, his embrace tightening. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. I see that compromise is more necessary to life than I ignorantly supposed it to be, and I have been trying to get Lord Morley’s book on that subject, but it does not appear to be available in the prison library, and the chaplain seems to regard him as an undesirable writer. He no longer made love to her, as there was no point.
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