I do not even admit that it was I whom you saw." She laid her hand upon his.

The touch of her fingers was wonderful, cool and soft and somehow reassuring.

He felt a sense of relaxation, felt the strain of living suddenly grow less.
"You know," she said, "all my friends tell me that I am a restful person.
You are living at high pressure, are you not?
Try and forget it.

Fate makes queer uses of all of us sometimes.

She sends her noblest sons down into the shadows and pitchforks her outcasts into the high places of life.