Original (inglés)

CHAPTER X THE CONFLICT OF THE NIGHT Her brain was a steam-wheel throughout the night; everything that could be thought of was tossed, nothing grasped. The unfriendliness of the friends who sought to retain her recurred. For look—to fly could not be interpreted as a flight. It was but a stepping aside, a disdain of defending herself, and a wrapping herself in her dignity. Women would be with her. She called on the noblest of them to justify the course she chose, and they did, in