She had been obliged to wait all morning for the opportunity to talk to Martha, who chose always to retire to her cell for the period of recreation that preceded afternoon prayers. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. It throws out a number of broad experimental generalizations, and then sets out to bring into harmony or relation with these an infinitely multifarious collection of phenomena. That’s the difficulty.
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