Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. “Your name and address in his pocket was no delusion,” he said sharply. The moment she entered the room and he rose, she felt that she was immediately consigned to the circle of strangers; and it emptied her heart of its joy and filled it with diffidence. .
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