"Poor Mrs. We are nuns. You see, it is that I begin to like you, even that you are of this disposition extremely interfering. He glanced up at the coachman. Perhaps there were experiences she would never confide to any man. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. The two girls put on shoes and started walking towards the north side of town. She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. But stand by and hear such things said about my late mistress’s daughter, I won’t. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. ’ ‘And if she can’t?’ asked Lucy.
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