” He strode away and vanished in the gathering fog. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. ” He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. He winced from the wasp-like sting. He had scarcely completed his toilet, when he was startled by a noise at the door, and heard his own name pronounced in no friendly accents.
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