She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. The great untrodden world was before her still, into which no one can pass alone. But what a monster was this Emile. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair.
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