"Going to befuddle himself between now and dinner," was the comment of Prudence. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. "Sir Rowland must be gone. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. I hope you won’t think less of me, you’ve treated me so well.
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