Her aunt did not object to capital punishment or war, or the industrial system or casual wards, or flogging of criminals or the Congo Free State, because none of these things really got hold of her imagination; but she did object, she did not like, she could not bear to think of people not having and enjoying their meals. He was normal now, and the coat was only a coat. She listened, her suspicions confirmed. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. C. A drunken idea, Ah Cum had called it.
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