His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. But before he could say anything, the vehicle rolled to a halt. The Bach Cantata was played fairly well, Sebastian thought, for a lot of children. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park.
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