We had not then recovered from the shock. His eyes flashed as he turned towards her. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. “A nice time of anxiety you’ve given me, young lady,” he said, as he entered the room. The true creative mind is always returning to battle; defeats are only temporary setbacks. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. But I never betray an old customer.
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