1 Anticipating an easier victory than she had foreseen, she named an exorbitant sum.
2 But the reward itself seemed unpalatable just then: she could get no zest from the thought of victory.
3 The strength of the victory shone forth from her as she lifted her irradiated face from the child on her knees.
4 She had, to a shade, the exact manner between victory and defeat: every insinuation was shed without an effort by the bright indifference of her manner.
5 These last were the two antagonistic forces which fought out their battle in her breast during the long watches of the night; and when she rose the next morning she hardly knew where the victory lay.
6 Her aunt's words had told her nothing new; but they had revived the vision of Bertha Dorset, smiling, flattered, victorious, holding her up to ridicule by insinuations intelligible to every member of their little group.
7 To attack society collectively, when one's means of approach are limited to a few acquaintances, is like advancing into a strange country with an insufficient number of scouts; but such rash tactics have sometimes led to brilliant victories, and the Brys had determined to put their fate to the touch.
8 It was this moment of love, this fleeting victory over themselves, which had kept them from atrophy and extinction; which, in her, had reached out to him in every struggle against the influence of her surroundings, and in him, had kept alive the faith that now drew him penitent and reconciled to her side.