"London. London does something to your brain. It jogs it and shakes it; and all the little ideas that had gone to sleep in their little cells get up and begin to dance as if they heard music. Everything wakes them up, the streams of people, the eyes and the faces. It's you and Nina and Laura. It's ten thousand things. Can't you understand, George?"
"It's playing the devil with your nerves, Jinny."
"Not when I go about in it alone. That's the secret."
"It looks as if you were alone a lot, doesn't it?" He glanced significantly around him.
"Oh—that!"
"Yes," he said, "that. Will you really let me save you?"
"Can you?"
"I can, if I do it my own way."
"I don't care how you do it."
"Good." He rose. "Is there anything in those letters you mind my seeing?"