Her clock had stopped—stopped at the very hour on which she had quitted the Mint! She had not the heart to wind it up again. I’ve got imagination. It was a letter. She could tell that he was leering at her. "Can you pull him through?" was the anxious question. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world.
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