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to ensure there would be no Baby Bates.
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And I'm supposed to applaud your poking around in my things, am I?
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Now, just a minute. It is not for you to be angry with me -
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it is for me to be angry with you.
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How do you make that out?
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You tell me you are longing for a child,
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that it's in the hands of God, but you seem to
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have put it in the very practised hands of Miss Stopes.
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You're wrong. It's not like that.
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Then what is it like?
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Come in, Lily.
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I'll leave these on the table for you.