At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. When he had finished he took up the wine list and ordered a bottle of dry champagne. ‘Leonardo again,’ he growled. I waited for them to get right out of the grounds. It is really amusing.
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