You are clothed, not for beauty's sake, but because the rigour of the climate and of custom equally require it.

Miss Quincey's conscience pricked her all the time that she stood looking in at Hunter's window.

Never before had she suffered so terrible a solicitation of the senses.

It was as if all those dim and germinal desires had burst and blossomed in this sinful passion for a blouse.

She resisted, faltered, resisted; turned away and turned back again.