The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room. 13 with a latchkey went humming lightly up to her room. “What were you doing?” Her voice was a little hysterical. " "Never to return," remarked Jack, gloomily. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. Stanley regarded his neighbor’s clean-shaven face almost warily. She is a fortune-teller and a vessel for man’s pleasure.
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