“There’s always the box seat.”
“They all grin. Your one idea of women is a grin.”
“There’s a great deal to be said for the cheerful grin. You know, a woman who has the grit to take things into her own hands, take the initiative, is no end of a relief. Women want to. They ought to. They’re inhibited by false ideas. They want, nearly all women want all their corners taken for them.”
“This book’ll be our brat. You’ve pulled it together no end. You ought to chuck your work, have a flat in town. Be general adviser to authors....”
Queer old professor Bolly, pink and white and loud checks, standing outside the summer house in the brilliant sun.
“Is this the factory?”
“This is the factory.”
“Does he dictate to you?”
“My dear Bolly.... Have five minutes; have half a minute’s conversation with Miss Henderson and then, if you dare, try to imagine anyone dictating to her.”
Pink and white. Two old flamingoes. Pulling the other way. Bringing all the old conservative world into the study ... sending it forward with their way of looking at the new things. Such a deep life in them that old age and artificial teeth and veined hands did not obscure their youth. Worldly happy religious musical Englishpeople.