As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. Empty, silly, coarse brutes. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. A boy no older than she, Gianfrancesco’s cousin, whispered what he would like to do to her when she stole into the hallways near the women’s chambers to fix herself. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. "I understand," she said. After passing Tottenham Court Road, very few houses were to be seen on the right hand, opposite Wardour Street it was open country. He raised her to a sitting position.
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