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She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. “No, you didn’t. She studied the face and tried to visualize the body, clothed in the dress which had created the spinsters' astonishment. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations.
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