” It was her last evening in that wrappered life against which she had rebelled. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. She passed people in the streets and regarded them with a quickening apprehension, once or twice came girls dressed in slatternly finery, going toward Regent Street from out these places. " "It is, indeed," replied Mrs. “Time for my Patience,” she said. She laughed a little bitterly. "Do you hear that! We are not wholly at fault. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun.
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