Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. "I could almost find in my heart to quarrel with Jack Sheppard for occasioning you so much pain," observed little Winifred Wood, as, having completed her ministration to the best of her ability, she helped Thames on with his coat. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense.
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