The three clerks fought for the only window, and saw her whisked into a hansom. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. “Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now. But one must disguise oneself.
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