She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. Go easy. She felt herself getting into a corner. Bring me food, a man, hurry!” She placed the stone back over the crypt to hide the evidence of what she had uncovered. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. I hope you won’t think less of me, you’ve treated me so well.
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