There Was No Despondency When She Fell

There Was A Dull Pang Of Regret Because It Was Not The Kiss Of Love Which Had Inflamed Her, Because It Was Not Love Which Had Held This Cup Of Life To Her Lips.

I Trust It Will Not Be Giving Away Professional Secrets To Say That Many Readers Would Be Surprised, Perhaps Shocked, At The Questions Which Some Newspaper Editors Will Put To A Defenseless Woman Under The Guise Of Flattery.

She's Got Some Sort Of Notion In Her Head Concerning The Eternal Rights Of Women.

A Certain Light Was Beginning To Dawn Dimly Within Her,—the Light Which, Showing The Way, Forbids It.

She Was Moved By A Kind Of Commiseration... A Pity For That Colorless Existence Which Never Uplifted Its Possessor Beyond The Region Of Blind Contentment, In Which No Moment Of Anguish Ever Visited Her Soul, In Which She Would Never Have The Taste Of Life's Delirium.