CHAPTER XXICONCLUSION
Phillida walked around the room, stroking all the objects with a curious affectionateness. She and Larry were alone in the attic studio on South Washington Square that Phillida shared with Arline and Cynthia.
“It’s worth while going to jail just to get out again,” she said. “Everybody ought to go to jail once in their lives.”
“Oh, if it was a regular thing there wouldn’t be any thrill in it,” said Larry.
Phillida went to the high window, and leaned her elbows on the sill. “The sky is like a turquoise bowl,” she murmured; “the dingy old trees are washed with gold; the people on the park benches sit like gods.”
Larry joined her at the window, and flung an arm about her shoulders. “Sort of shop-worn gods if you ask me,” he said, in his matter-of-fact way.
“You’ll h
