“You see,” she said, very gently, “I AM going. Mr. But you need not fear,’ she added, shaking him off. The perception of him flooded her being. ‘The truth is, Everett,’ she said brightly, limping up to the general and tucking a hand in his arm, ‘that the girl is you all over again. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. Three times she escaped. She was unusually pale, and her eyes were brilliant. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. Hugging him in the beautiful dress in front of the teenagers was strangely soothing to her.
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