It had struck home.

No matter whether she liked it or not, it had gripped her and mastered her, made her sit there and listen and forget details.
"It is life," he said, "and life is not always beautiful.

And yet, perhaps because I am strangely made, I find something beautiful there.

It seems to me that the beauty is tenfold enhanced because it is there--" "But why couldn't the poor woman--" she broke in disconnectedly.

Then she left the revolt of her thought unexpressed to cry out: "Oh! It is degrading! It is not nice! It is nasty!" For the moment it seemed to him that his heart stood still.