" On leaving Mr. It was clear she wanted to get away from home, that she was impatient to get away from home. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. " CHAPTER V. I’ve never seen her quite so sure of herself. The Disguise. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. She remained stonily in the middle of the hallway until the spinsters' door shut them from view … for ever. It occurred to her that it was absurd and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions.
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