All I had to do was to piece them together. “I’m inclined to think, Stanley, myself that as a matter of fact it was the expurgated Romeo and Juliet did the mischief. This gloom was impossible. You can pull it over on everybody else, Lucy, but not on me. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. Most of them didn’t, anyhow. She wondered what the problem was, why the buildup? She wanted to go to his apartment that evening but stayed herself.
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