32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. “She has refused to listen to you?” “She has behaved in a most extraordinary manner,” he answered. "Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped. Lucia had never been so happy, so content. Swinging her arm in an arc, she let go of the foil and it flew across the chapel towards the main door, crashing down between the pews, and clattering onto the floor. She had made her first fight for dignity and freedom as a grown-up and independent Person, and this was how the universe had treated her. "Is it poison?" she asked. Stanley was inclined to think the censorship should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth. I am afraid because I love you, so that the mere thought of failure hurts. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both.
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