His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. She didn’t like the shops, she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable persons she had ever had to face. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. A garrison called to arms at dead of night on the sudden approach of the enemy, could not have been more expeditiously, or effectually aroused. The important secret remained locked in my breast, but I resolved to be avenged.
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