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. There was a wall; she was always encountering it; the one time she was able to break through this wall was when the part in his hair was crooked. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls. Doctors constantly admonished and offered weak consolation that most would have been hurt much worse from the type of fall he took. He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once.
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