She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. . . “You love some one else?” he repeated. Brown, Lucy, and Martin Chen were at the center of the joyous horde. Mischief bubbled up in her. Anna lied to you, I lied to you. “That sounds interesting. Two or three podgy-looking old men with wives to match, half-a-dozen overdressed girls, and a couple of underdressed American ones, who still wore the clothes in which they had been tramping half over London since breakfast time.
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