" "Go on, tell me," he urged, enchanted. " "You don't remember your mother?" "Oh, no; she died when I was very little. At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. She could not speak. They were sharp and dripping with black blood. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher.
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