“So it seems that I was wrong. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. ‘We’ll have you right out of the way, just in case. ‘Certainly I am not a nun. More than ever a sense of confusion was upon Ennison. Stunning and continuous, the din seemed almost to take away the power of hearing. “Time for my Patience,” she said. You know I am in love with you.
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