It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printed flowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg in silk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. Knowledge was sacred in Athens, knowledge and his twin, Art. She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment.
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