I will begin with an old story, which I have already told repeatedly in relation to this novel, but it is so good that it is not a sin and repeat. The fact is that for this novel Stella Gibbons received the English version of the French Prix Femina (Femina Vie Heureuse Prize), which in previous years was presented, for example, to E.M. Forster and Virginia Wolfe. When she learned that Gibbons had received the prize, Wolf wrote to her friend Elizabeth Bowen (Wolf had hoped that it would be Bowen who would receive the prize). "45 pounds went to this Gibbons - wrote the greatest novelist with quite everyday intonations. - And who is she? What is this book? And now you can't buy a carpet. I must say, I gently love the work of Virginia Wolfe too - all her transparent summer weight and sleep - but I somehow am surprised that next to the book Gibbons all of a sudden becomes comical, earthly and great novelists, letters which are sometimes almost diligent than their novels, suddenly throw away