“I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. The floor was strewn with screws, nails, fragments of wood and stone, and across the passage lay the heavy iron fillet. "Yes. We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne. And though I say it that shouldn't say it, no man can tie a better knot. ” She spoke like a mistress addressing school-children. "Ah! I see. With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds.
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