"Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard. Look at these walls. “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we are free in the world, to think we are queens. He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room.
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