“If I was the world I think I should have put down a crimson carpet, and asked you to say what you wanted, and generally walk over me. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. A moment afterwards, the door was closed and bolted, and the carpenter found himself alone. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park.
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