“His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. Was she interested in that young ass who was risking his bones over there in the city? They had come up on the same boat. ’ He became aware of his friend’s face before him. . You sent back my Christmas checks. He slapped his knee. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street.
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