"You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. 195 < 24 > A CITY IN GREECE, 589 B. “I suppose you’re like the rest of them. He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh. I’ve never seen her quite so sure of herself. “Just look that through, will you. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own.
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