‘You are, I think, a gentleman, no?’ Gerald bowed. The old fool’s been working on you through your sister to keep off the stage. By and by she heard the screen door. She was in deadly earnest in everything she did. Lord, I am sixty. The remainder of dinner was surreal and stilted. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. ‘And housebreaking,’ added Gerald calmly.
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