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And yet her soul was tortured, exposed. Even walking up the path to the church, confident as she was that in every respect she stood beyond all vulgar judgment, knowing perfectly that her appearance was complete and perfect, according to the first standards, yet she sufered a torture, under her confidence and her pride, feeling herself exposed to wounds and to mockery and to despite. She always felt vulnerable, vulnerable, there was a secret chink in her armour. She did not know herself what it was. It was a lack of robutst self, she had no natural sufficiency, there was a terrible void, a lack, a deficiency of being within her.