He rose deliberately to his feet and confronted them. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. Instinctively she imitated this action, chilled and a little frightened at the expression of terror that confronted her. I am quite sure though that they did not mean to be rude.
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