But, holy smoke!—the Yale spirit in…. The first peg was torture. . ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. It generalized everything she put to it. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. They had chosen to deliberately and wickedly insult a lady who had done her best to entertain them for many weeks. Her body was perpetually tanned, despite the approach of winter. She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment.
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