“I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. Earles attended her obsequiously to the door. Naturally he was a member of the National Honor Society and a straight A student on the Honor Roll. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. ‘Because I’m a female,’ declared Lucilla unanswerably. It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence. My son wanted to marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop. She was the High Priestess. .
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