She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. So the talk went on. “Who is the tenant of these rooms?” he inquired. From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas. She pulled the trigger. There was none. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released. Things happen out this way. Henceforth, I utterly throw off the yoke you have laid upon me. ’ ‘I thought you were dead,’ Melusine confided.
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