She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. She held up the lamp. “Are you going on again this winter with that scientific work of yours? It’s an instance of heredity, I suppose. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters.
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