"In case he should consent—" "He never will," interrupted Winifred. ‘It’s my belief she is a nun. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. ‘Didn’t mean to say that. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella.
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