She thought of the marvellous beauty of skin, and all the delightfulness of living texture. Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully. The general did what he might to hush it up, and paid handsomely to manage it, I daresay. . A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. Wiped out, but for these. . Rather a magniloquent term, perhaps, but what else am I to say? One of these is that the most absolutely selfish thing in the world is to give way to depression, to think of one’s troubles at all except of how to overcome them. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again.
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