away into--what was it?--the darkness.

She put out the lamp.

It did not do to think, nor, for the matter of that to feel. She gave up
trying to understand herself, and the vast armies of the benighted, who
follow neither the heart nor the brain, and march to their destiny by
catch-words. The armies are full of pleasant and pious folk. But they
have yielded to the only enemy that matters--the enemy within. They have
sinned against passion and truth, and vain will be their strife after
virtue. As the years pass, they are censured. Their pleasantry and
their piety show cracks, their wit becomes cynicism, their unselfishness
hypocrisy; they feel and produce discomfort wherever they go. They have
sinned against Eros and against Pallas Athene, and not by any heavenly
intervention, but by the ordinary course of nature, those allied deities
will be avenged.

Lucy entered this army when she pretended to George that she did not
love him, and pretended to Cecil that she loved no one. The night
received her, as it had received Miss Bartlett thirty years before.

Chapter XVIII: Lying to Mr. Beebe, Mrs. Honeychurch, Freddy, and The
Servants

Windy Corner lay, not on the summit of the ridge, but a few hundred feet
down the southern slope, at the springing of one of the great buttresses
that supported the hill. On either side of it was a shallow ravine,
filled with ferns and pine-trees, and down the ravine on the left ran
the highway into the Weald.

Whenever Mr. Beebe crossed the ridge and caught sight of these noble
dispositions of the earth, and, poised in the middle of them, Windy
Corner,--he laughed. The situation was so glorious, the house so
commonplace, not to say impertinent. The late Mr. Honeychurch had
affected the cube, because it gave him the most accommodation for his
money, and the only addition made by his widow had been a small turret,
shaped like a rhinoceros' horn, where she could sit in wet weather and
watch the carts going up and down the road. So impertinent--and yet the
house "did," for it was the home of people who loved their surroundings
honestly. Other houses in the neighborhood had been built by expensive
architects, over others their inmates had fidgeted sedulously, yet all
these suggested the accidental, the temporary; while Windy Corner seemed
as inevitable as an ugliness of Nature's own creation. One might laugh
at the house, but one never shuddered. Mr. Beebe was bicycling over
this Monday