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 and another book, white with gold roses, called "The Joy of Living." She got up and slipped a novel from the local library into the bottom of a drawer.

"What on earth would be the good," she reasoned, "of going out into the garden when there is no sun and no wind and practically no garden?" She considered her reflection.

"I don't feel I could go down the High Street in this hat. There must be something queer about it. Half-past nine: Harold will be back at half-past eleven. I wonder if he's bringing me anything from London."

She put a good deal of powder on her face, changed her hat and earrings, selected a pair of half-soiled gloves from a drawer and went downstairs. Then she ran quickly up again and wiped off all the powder.

"Like a wood nymph," she murmured, "coming out of a wood."

When she was half-way down the High Street she found that she had forgotten her shopping-basket and her purse.

Harold came home at half-past eleven and found his wife still out.