" He opened his eyes again. Then he could hear Hilary breathing beside him, and from outside the muted twittering of birds. Lucy saw that perhaps she had been attracted to Martin all along. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. The address was of course her destination, thousands of miles away, an infinitesimal spot in a terrifying space. You are captain of your soul; don't forget your Henley. " "There's no hurry. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly.
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