She wished to get as far as the Strand bookshops, not only for the sake of choice, but because this region pleased her and gave her a sense of holiday.

Past Battersea Park, over Chelsea Bridge, then the weary stretch to Victoria Station, and the upward labour to Charing Cross.

Five miles, at least, measured by pavement.

But Virginia walked quickly; at half-past eleven she was within sight of her goal.
A presentable copy of Keble's work cost less than she had imagined.
This rejoiced her.

But after leaving the shop she had a singular expression on her face--something more than weariness, something less than anxiety, something other than calculation.