She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. The cause of this uproar was soon manifest. Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. " "Why, what'll you do?" demanded the turnkey. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. Diane Vorsack clicked her tongue in a “tsk”. After knocking for some time at the door without effect, he tried the latch, and to his surprise found it open. She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. He thought of his severe attitude towards the girl who was rightly and with contempt refusing his measured help. Pramlay lived for amenities and the mellowed surfaces of things.
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