And then, when that which was buried rises to confront you, in stark, unescapable reality, then, realize that your defences are not ready, that an emergency is upon you with which you have deliberately unfitted yourself to cope, that Truth, your only weapon, you have long ago cast from you at the bidding of those who read its name Morbidity.
But she was dimly aware that, as submission had blinded her once, so bitterness obscured her vision now.
The old, inculcated instinct for seeking advice beset her often, but she derided it in the realization that no glib outside verdict could now carry weight with her.
Half enviously, half mockingly, she thought of the old literary convention that, in a time of mental crisis, some chance encounter, some wisdom met almost at random, should provide the unforgettable word holding the key of solution.
"She never saw the lame cobbler again, but his words had made all life look different henceforward...."
There were no such fortuitous sign-posts in real life, Lily decided.
More than one adviser, nevertheless, sought her unasked.
"All is not well with you, my Lily."
Aunt Clo's penetrating gaze had underlined her words.
"Shall I tell you, little one, that I foresaw this some time ago? Moi aussi, j'ai passé par là. There comes a day, is it not so?"