When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. I never hunt the human tiger without being armed. Now the pig knew where to find her—for it would not take long for a Catholic to locate the convent in Golden Square—even if she escaped him here. Fool that I was to part with my lantern! But I'll soon set myself straight. She was so interested, and this was such a relief from the trudging anxiety of her search for work, that she went on for a whole week as if she was still living at home. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women.
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