But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner. She addresses you as the Flower of the Lotus, as the Resplendent Moonbeam. It wasn’t. I have always hated it. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. It was a second reminder that against her claim to go free and untrammelled there was a case to be made, that after all it was true that a girl does not go alone in the world unchallenged, nor ever has gone freely alone in the world, that evil walks abroad and dangers, and petty insults more irritating than dangers, lurk.
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