But you will, you will. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. “Good luck! Good luck!” She waved from the window until the bend hid him. The devil is on top, not below. “Yes,” he said, “I want to get away. I met her when we were both very young, as young as you are. The girl was flushed with excitement, bright-eyed, and braced for a struggle; her aunt had never seen her looking so fine or so pretty. My will never faltered.
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