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. His face was white. He realized that he was committed to the path across the fields, an uninteresting walk at the best of times. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s pulling away at that oar. He was a stranger.
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