Sheila was a stout woman, her bosoms huge, her face 110 wide and square. Hastening along the passage he came to the sixth door. The challenge gave her courage. Lucy stared at the girl for a long ten seconds, and then looked away. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. He envied her a little. "Think not to deceive me, monster. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. But his grief was of short duration. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle.
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