“Ass!” he went on, still warming. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. . ’” “But that is flat rebellion!” said Mr. Wood resounded from below. She did not learn the kind of looks she had been bestowing upon him at a convent.
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