She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. This business of love is the supreme affair in life, it is the woman’s one event and crisis that makes up for all her other restrictions, and I cower—as we all cower—with a blushing and paralyzed mind until it overtakes me!. It was the largest room in the house, which was why it had been given over to the main business of the convent as a house of God. Seems as she don’t trust soldiers easy. They’ll know. Nothing else weighs against it. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. Wherein she differed but little from her young sisters. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. It took all my self control not to let my hands wander.
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