Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. “I never planned it—And now I have begun—” She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that explanations were impossible that night. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. They arrived at the party shortly after 10:00pm. I begin to fear I might be purposely go out of the way. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry.
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