She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. “Why should one pretend? “Think of all the beauty in the world that is covered up and overlaid. Told you how it would be. My very sentences stumble and give way. Spiders came out of their hiding places to commune in windows, industriously spinning their own designs over the stained glass. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. For was not Gerald a gentleman? An Englishman, whose services any female—excluding her own self so idiote— would be very happy to have. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. " "Do you suppose he knew?" "He? Oh, you mean Mr. I'd go for it.
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