Since she was only seventeen when she had them, she didn’t deal with it very well. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. See what your misconduct has deprived you of —see what you might have been. There was no such a thing as perfection in a mixed world. He was not quite sure whether, after all, he had been wise. Still it was possible, and the difficulty was only a fresh incitement. “Dare!” she said. “How do you feel?” she asked. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. Those who act wickedly bring misery on all connected with them.
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