There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. But as she got out of the train at Morningside Park Station she had a shock. “Now, there, there. I felt suddenly I understood you—as an intelligent person. But Miss Miniver was highly unsatisfactory. Manning, her aunt and father, neighbors, customs, traditions, forces. You are the High Priestess of Life. Peg after peg had gone down his blistered throat, but never had a smile touched his lips, never had his gaze roved inquisitively. You must have repented a little, or you would not have done that. It was the moment for smiles.
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