The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. “Lucy, do you forgive me?” She looked at him in earnest. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. We met dissecting dogfish. She began to weep in long, aching sobs. “Am I hurting you?” She asked. Suddenly he came to a stop, his mouth agape. She leaned over and kissed his cheek innocently. “The truth!” It was a moment of awkwardness between the two sisters —a moment, too, charged with its own psychological interest, for there were secrets between them which for many months had made their intercourse a constrained and difficult thing. Anybody in pain had only to call to him.
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