But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. She came to befriend the female mistresses, some who were even so audacious as to bring their children into the house. None this end. Her eyes noted it mercilessly. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. “Nobody understands them, of course, but we all look as though we did.
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