“You are coming in, aren’t you, Sydney?” “If I may,” he answered. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern. It was not as bad a wound as she had at first thought, and the blood was only oozing now. The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter.
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