Their last words he remembered oftenest, because even the Underground leads to Trafalgar Square, and it was there that they were spoken. The shadows of the column lay sharp and black across the Square; that of the Admiral was being run over by innumerable wheels in the road beyond, and the low sun flashed in every window of the Grand Hotel.
"Our future offices!" laughed Harry, pointing to the pile.
"I don't think I want them to be yours," said Fanny Lowndes.
"Why not?"
"I want you to go on with your writing."
"But you see how little good I am. One thing accepted out of seven written! I should never make bread and butter at it."
"You have not done what I told you to do at Richmond. You should try prose, and draw on your own experiences."
"Would you be my critic?"
"If I had the qualifications."
"Well, will you read me and say what you think?"