. ’ ‘Who were they?’ she asked abruptly. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. She sensed a pelvic exam coming on. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. I have been the vicomte’s secretary, remember. When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. "I cannot part with him," replied the widow, bursting into tears; "indeed, indeed, I cannot. "Will that do?" he added, returning it. The necessity of defending herself and assuming a confident and secure tone did much to dispell the sense of being exposed and indefensible in a huge dingy world that abounded in sinister possibilities.
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