The light would betray us. "Thames!—Thames!" cried Winifred, rushing to the window. Her naked body was an abomination of caked filth and sagging tubes for breasts. A species of vertigo seized him. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions.
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