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She wedged the towel between her legs. ‘But if you must fight so furiously, I don’t see how I can promise not to do it again. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. “Listen! There was a Meysey Hill in Paris, an American railway millionaire. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in the man!—the iron in this child of his! Wanting a little love, a caress now and then. Or else I would have finished him.
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