” She replied. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. This at once thrilled her and worried her. ‘Gérard is not mad, only of a disposition entirely interfering. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. ” “Except,” said Constance, surveying her work with her head on one side, “to keep the matches from the litter.
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