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‘Can’t have been a common housebreaker, you see,’ Hilary explained to Lucilla, quite unnecessarily. Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. A slow anger burned in the man. Hogarth," replied Gay. CHAPTER XXXII. E. I sha'n't cry any more. . She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. She snapped out of her blissful state and looked at him squarely in the eyes. . .
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