8/41 But he couldn't bring it off: he was thin, though not too thin, except to his own thinking. She too was a tall stag of a thing, but she sat bunched up like a witch. She wore a wine-purple dress, her arms seemed to poke out of the sleeves, and she had dragged her brown hair into straight, untidy strands. She was talking to the young man who was not her husband: a fair, pale, fattish young fellow in pince-nez and dark clothes. |