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A Poor Wise Man

She went to her window and looked out. Years ago, like Elinor, she had watched
the penitentiary walls from that window, with their endlessly pacing sentries, and
had grieved for those men who might look up at the sky, or down at the earth, but
never out and across, to see the spring trees, for instance, or the children playing
on the grass. She remembered the story about Jim Doyle's escape, too. He had
dug a perilous way to freedom. Vaguely she wondered if he were not again
digging a perilous way to freedom.
Men seemed always to be wanting freedom, only they had so many different
ideas of what freedom was. At the camp it had meant breaking bounds, balking
the Military Police, doing forbidden things generally. Was that, after all, what
freedom meant, to do the forbidden thing? Those people in Russia, for instance,
who stole and burned and appropriated women, in the name of freedom. Were
law and order, then, irreconcilable with freedom?
After she had undressed she rang her bell, and Castle answered it.
"Please find out if Ellen has gone to bed," she said. "If she has not, I would like to
talk to her."
The maid looked slightly surprised.
"If it's your hair, Miss Lily, Mrs. Cardew has asked me to look after you until she
has engaged a maid for you."
"Not my hair," said Lily, cheerfully. "I rather like doing it myself. I just want to talk
to Ellen."
It was a bewildered and rather scandalized Castle who conveyed the message to
Ellen.
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