” “I think,” Lady Lescelles said, putting down her teacup, “that I must send Nigel to plead his own cause. Abruptly she got out of bed, smoothed her sheet and straightened her pillow and lay down, and fell almost instantly asleep. She knew blood was rushing to his face and other places as well. ‘But I have told you. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth.
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