“Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered. Leave me behind: I'm not afraid. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. ’ He stopped suddenly, dismay creeping into his face. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility.
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