“Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. “Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door. ’ ‘Some of them more pleasurable than others, I take it. Their small talk continued. She went to the basement and shed her sodden coat and scarf, tossing them into her favorite modern appliance, the electric dryer. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping.
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