” Lucy observed, watching her friend. She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. ‘You wish a reason for jealousy? Eh bien, you may have it. “The real reason why I am out of place here,” she said, “is because I like men. “My sister and I,” she said slowly, “have seen very little of each other lately. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. Profligate women are never reclaimed.
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