" "You are mocking me, Rowland. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. There is only Gerald to see me, after all. “I hope you are going to Carey House. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. Some of your sex, I mean. 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. A fierce struggle ensued.
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