Nick never read books, never talked of Ireland, or the House of Lords; and as for his finger-nails! She would learn Latin and read Virgil.

She had been a great reader.

She had read Scott; she had read Dumas.

At the Slade no one read.

But no one knew Fanny at the Slade, or guessed how empty it seemed to her; the passion for ear-rings, for dances, for Tonks and Steer--when it was only the French who could paint, Jacob said.