Mr. On some insane score she fancied she had to state her case in verse. “I never planned it—And now I have begun—” She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that explanations were impossible that night. “I think, perhaps if you will excuse me, that we will defer the luncheon. Another picture slid across her vision. I'll lay my life he's gone. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. “I’m not a good woman.
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