We aren't between him and heaven; he is between us and heaven. She lied. "You cannot understand me, Madam; and it is well you cannot. There are way-stations—even terminals. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. ” “But you thought you could forget him. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. I was mean to him. “This stirs one. For the past four weeks mirrors had been her delight, a new toy.
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