When she made mistakes, she would lie awake at night wondering how she could have been so stupid and feeling ashamed that she should have failed his demand for perfection.
Sometimes she thought of her future, but nothing for the moment seemed important except the present.
Because it had a dream-like quality it was impossible to think ahead, except to hurry in dressing, changing and getting through the darkness of the night so that she could see the Marquis again.
“Your hair certainly has new life in it, Miss Kistna,” Mrs. Dawes declared one morning.
“Are you sure?” Kistna asked.
“It’s a fact, miss,” Mrs. Dawes replied.
She was brushing out the long length of Kistna’s hair and seeing it spring out from the brush, each hair charged with a separate life of its own.
“Yes, it is better,”
