“And then they are swollen up and inflamed and drunken with matter. You can do anything you please. She had to do her thinking at home—under inspection. She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. The son of Prudence instead was obliged to take her back to the convent on Sunday to see Martha and tell her the good news, and to fetch her meagre belongings. For each costume she had devised a suitable form of matrimonial refusal. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. He seemed to deliberate.
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