He lunched in the Legal Club in Chancery Lane, and met Ogilvy. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. "I can readily see," he said, "why you'll always be as poor as a church mouse. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. He found himself growing hoarse yelling over the music, but it also situated him to lean towards her to put his hand on her ear to aid her hearing.
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