‘I could not look back, dear child,’ it began; ‘I should have cried if I had. I am writing this in a stationary taxi drawn up in a corner of Russell Square. The driver thinks I am a little mad, I think, to hire him and then only sit inside without wanting to go anywhere at all. But although it is past dinner-time I cannot bring myself to go . . . I don’t know what I want to do and don’t care for anything except to get you back again . . .’
