Since Michaelis, she had made up her mind she wanted nothing. That seemed the simplest solution of the otherwise insoluble. She wanted nothing more than what she’d got; only she wanted to get ahead with what she’d got: Clifford, the stories, Wragby, the Lady-Chatterley business, money, and fame, such as it was⁠ ⁠… she wanted to go ahead with it all. Love, sex, all that sort of stuff, just water-ices! Lick it up and forget it. If you don’t hang on to it in your mind, it’s nothing. Sex especially⁠ ⁠… nothing! Make up your mind to it, and you’ve solved the problem. Sex and a cocktail: they both lasted about as long, had the same effect, and amounted to about the same thing.