‘Ah yes,’ said Ursula, ‘so do I.’

‘How much is it?’ Birkin asked the man.

‘Ten shillings.’

‘And you will send it — ?’

It was bought.

‘So beautiful, so pure!’ Birkin said. ‘It almost breaks my heart.’ They walked along between the heaps of rubbish. ‘My beloved country — it had something to express even when it made that chair.’

‘And hasn’t it now?’ asked Ursula. She was always angry when he took this tone.

‘No, it hasn’t. When I see that clear, beautiful chair, and I think of England, even Jane Austen’s