She had not made friends with any; so they still eyed her askance. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. . Manning,” she said, “for a time—Will you tell no one? Will you keep this—our secret? I’m doubtful—Will you please not even tell my aunt?” “As you will,” he said. You must tell me what it all means.
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