She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do. She would never, never go back. But she wished she could put the thing she had done in some way to them so that it would not hurt them so much as the truth would certainly do. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. Things that you and the nuns would not think about for—’ She stopped, biting back the words “for a young girl”. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery.
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