. ’ ‘You mean the bookroom, miss. Don't be frightened of her. Well, you shall know. And you talk like that! What the devil have you been up to, to land in this bog?" It was a cast at random. Afterwards we started for a motor ride to a place outside Paris for déjeuner, and I suppose the man’s nerve failed him. She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis.
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