" Internally, it was divided by two long galleries, one over the other. Still it was possible, and the difficulty was only a fresh incitement. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. They've paid for their lodging. “Everything will follow,” she said. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. “Come on. ‘Can you not open it?’ she cried. When she looked into their eyes, her despair put her beyond tears. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy.
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