Earles remarked genially. Love—admiration for your matchless beauty alone sways me. And so Winifred understood him. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. We WERE thieves.
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