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. A short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. I consented to become Mrs. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. “I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on. But I'm not worrying about that. The cloth nearly touches the floor.
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