He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. ‘A devil is just what you are. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. Let me lend you some money. I wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE were.
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