“I do not understand. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. I can’t do it even decently myself, and I dare not run the risk of ruining all my clothes. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. ’ ‘Who is that?’ demanded Lucilla eagerly. And if one were to love some one very much, it’s just so that one would be blindest, just when one wanted most to see. ‘Come,’ she called. It got on my nerves—the women I saw. On the contrary, I am altogether satisfied.
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