There was the door, giving right on to the street, and then only a bit of a walk, and oneself knowing every step of the way, and then the sight of him, and the feel of those hands of his—it was that would put everything right, and take the spell off of one.
On the hottest night of all, Sister Clara made up her mind. She’d break her holy vows, that were already broken in the heart of her, and go back into the world.
In the morning she dressed and went downstairs.
She’d not be taking anything with her. After Mass the nuns’d be going to the refectory, and they’d not be missing her for awhile, and they keeping the custody of the eyes the way the Holy Rule enjoined.
Oh, it was the fine nun she was, to talk about the Holy Rule.
The door was unlocked. Once outside on the pavement, there was nothing to do but pull it to again.
The slam of it!
There’d be no getting in again now, without a great ringing of the bell, and the portress coming to answer it, and the giving of scandal to the whole of them.
If it hadn’t been for that slam of the door....
The weather had broken. It wasn’t hot any more, but raw and chilly.