But she did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. "There's only one way out of the muddle, that I can see. You are nothing of the sort. It was a beautiful place that she had found, a round cave by a small stream. ” Lucy would always press her face into her mother’s skirts when she heard the ending, no matter how many times she heard it.
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