"Nothing. Except a club I belong to."
"That's something, isn't it? You make friends."
"I don't know anybody in it, except Mr. Jewdwine; and I don't really know him. It's the shop, you know. You forget the shop."
"No I don't forget it; but I wish you would. If only you could get away from it, away from everything. If you could get away from London altogether for a while."
"If—if? I shall never get away."
"Why not? I've been thinking it over. I wonder whether things could not be made a little easier for you? You ought to make your peace with the world, you know. Supposing you could go and live where the world happens to be beautiful, in Rome or Florence or Venice, wouldn't that reconcile you to reality?"
"It might. But I don't see how I'm to go and live there. You see there's the shop. There always is the shop."
"Would it be impossible to leave it for a little while?"
"Not impossible, perhaps; but"—he smiled, "well—highly imprudent."
"But if something else were open to you?"