“Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. Most of it had been incomprehensible to her, or comprehensible in a way that checked further curiosity, but the figure of Vivien, hard, capable, successful, and bullying, and ordering about a veritable Teddy in the person of Frank Gardner, appealed to her. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. The boy she had loved was gone. Drink the toast, Jack. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up.
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