She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. Not a job he may care about; but he's a good sport. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. Besides," he added cynically, "it is said that God watches over fools and drunken men. "Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. It generalized everything she put to it.
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