’ ‘Who, Joan, who? Of whom do you speak?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham. You are all that I am or hope to be—the celestial atom God put into me at the beginning. “Will you be moral and your species, or immoral and yourself? We’ve decided to be immoral. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Her unnatural calm was giving way.
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