It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. A lucky escape. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. She could not see clearly. I want to go to that because it’s a new experience, because I think it will be interesting and give me a view of things. “Since last night.
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