And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. We come out into the world, some of us—” She paused. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. They must have a key. Wood,—Winifred fainted in the arms of a female attendant,—and Wood standing beside them almost in a state of distraction. “We played at love-making in Paris. ‘Have you any more pretty toys like that knife about you?’ ‘The girl’s a regular arsenal,’ Hilary snapped, giving up into his senior’s hand the nasty little weapon he had snatched. It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence.
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