" "It is so, nevertheless," replied Wild. ‘Have you any more pretty toys like that knife about you?’ ‘The girl’s a regular arsenal,’ Hilary snapped, giving up into his senior’s hand the nasty little weapon he had snatched. ‘If ever I met such a pair of lunatics!’ ‘Give me that, Hilary,’ Gerald said at once, ignoring his remark and reaching out for the handkerchief. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. It’s one of our conventional superstitions.
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