At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. . At the bottom of the trunk I found two of my mother's dresses. She flew up the covered stairs and knocked upon his door. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. ” “Of course you’re converted?” she said. “Bohemianism is the least understood word ever coined. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. .
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