But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. At noon the doctor himself arrived. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. He did not write this with lead but with his heart's blood. But are we any more free?” “Well?” “I mean we’ve long strings to tether us, but we are bound all the same.
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