I knew where I would go next: Florence. Could she go through with it? She must. I told her it was the end. If they do, now and then, run away with a knocker, paint a sign, beat the watch, or huff a magistrate, they pay for their pastime, and that's sufficient. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. “Maternity,” she said, “has been our undoing. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. ’ But the nun’s eyes had caught Gerald behind and she took instant umbrage. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end.
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