“You know very well that she is selfish and pleasure-loving to the backbone. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. She went further: she doubted that he was fully conscious of where he was. Monroe would go to work and Mrs. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped.
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