Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. All at once they came to the top, the faded blue sky overhead, and whichever way he looked, the horizon, the great rocking circle which hemmed them in. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. “I don’t know where to go to.
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