"Yes, squeezed!"—repeated Walden inwardly, with a sense of unreasonable irritation; "All the toes cramped and the heels pinched—everything out of joint and distorted—false feet, in fact, like everything else false that has to do with the modern fashionable woman!"

There they lay,-apparently innocent;—but surely detestable, nay even Satanic objects. He determined he would have them removed— picked up—cast out—thrust into the nearest drawer, anywhere, in fact, provided they were out of his stern, clerical sight. Mrs. Spruce was continuing conversation in brisk tones, but whether she was addressing him, or the buxom young woman, who, under her directions was shaking out or folding up the various garments taken out of the various boxes, he did not know, and, as a matter of fact, he did not care. She sounded like Tennyson's 'Br. . . Read More