It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. “Well, my girl, I wish you had thought about all these things before these bothers began. “No!” Her thoughts had turned in a new direction. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. ‘R-rien. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face.
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