“How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. Do you promise to do this?" "Solemnly," rejoined the carpenter. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. “I’ll never be happy again! I hate you! But most of all, what you have made me! A flesh-eating demon cannibal, just like you! I should be dead, dead and lying at the bottom of the sea. We were talking about the suffrage—and I rather scoffed.
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