” Sheila scolded, but Lucy had invented a dozen reasons why she had to have her own hamper until finally Sheila got tired of it and relented. She fled. She listened with dumb fear in her eyes. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. And now her father said she must not go. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. “Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or an hotel?” she asked. She is no longer mine; she is yours. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep.
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