a special case. But with the ordinary man, who has his life fixed in one place, marriage is just impossible. There may be, and there ARE, thousands of women who want it, and could conceive of nothing else. But the very thought of it sends me MAD. One must be free, above all, one must be free. One may forfeit everything else, but one must be free — one must not become 7, Pinchbeck Street — or Somerset Drive — or Shortlands. No man will be sufficient to make that good — no man! To marry, one must have a free lance, or nothing, a comrade-in-arms, a Glckstritter. A man with a position in the social world — well, it is just impossible, impossible!’

‘What a lovely word — a Glckstritter!’ said Ursula. ‘So much nicer than a soldier of fortune.’