That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. Be honest, and you will be happy. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. ‘You escape from your own convent, at great personal danger. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. “You say you want a vote,” said Mr. "Thank you," she said, and left the office.
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