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Updated: June 27, 2025
Moya was giving herself up, almost immorally, Paul sometimes thought, to the fascination Mrs. Bogardus's personality had for her. In a keenly susceptible state herself, at that time, there was something calming and strengthening in the older woman's perfected beauty, her physical poise, and the fitness of everything she did and said and wore to the given occasion.
"I was a West Pointer, madam; and I was true to my salt and false to my blood. But, the flag over all! at the cost of everything I held dear on earth." After this speech the colonel looked hotter than ever and a trifle ashamed of himself. Mrs. Bogardus's face wore its most unobservant expression. "I don't agree with Paul," she said.
They searched the emptiness of the barely furnished room. The clock ticked on to itself. Mrs. Bogardus's companion stood irresolute, not knowing the place. The fetid air confused his senses. But she went past him through the inner door, guided by remembrance of the sounds she had heard. She had seen it.
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