“Forgive me,” he said. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. 266 She peered up at him. Mike had suffered severe depression in his first years with the Becks, but had grown to think of them as his natural family to the degree that his past seemed like a distant memory. He recognised this object at once. In length the arch exceeded seventy feet. “I am very much obliged for the tea,” she said. He held her eyes. She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. Perhaps he had heard of this Enschede. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate.
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