He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. You got to take the world as it is, and the only possible trade for a girl that isn’t sweated is to get hold of a man and make him do it for her. I cannot work, I cannot teach. 1. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. He made the universe on those lines. But I may yet live to thwart them.
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