Her personal maidservant, the first she had ever had in her life, was joyful for her. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. For a time Spurlock did not move. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Michelle, I truly don’t. " "I'm sorry.
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