But
she wouldn't turn back. She had, as it were, her own brushed hair
to live up to, her polished shoes, her cuff-links. She went down
the steps and started to walk. She stepped like a person who knew
exactly where they were going, and why they were going there -
though the fact was, she had nothing to do, and no one to visit,
no one to see. Her day was a blank, like all of her days. She
might have been inventing the ground she walked on, laboriously,
with every step. (p6)
'An
incendiary will land on a roof: it might burn it through, quite
neatly, from one floor to the next; you can stand in the basement
and look at the sky...I find damage like that more miserable,
somehow, than if a house has been blasted to bits: it's like a
life with a cancer in it.' (p210)
She
glanced at Julia's smooth, upper-class face and thought of jewels,
of pearls. Wasn't hardness a condition of glamour, after all?
(p213)
'The
trouble with you, Langrish,' said Binkie, 'is you have a gallantry
complex.' (p240)
'It
must be a trick,' said Helen lightly. 'When you're quiet, people
imagine you're awfully deep. In fact all you are doing is thinking
- I don't know - how tight your bra is; or wondering whether or
not you need the lavatory.' (p255)