She felt a little ashamed of herself, a bit of a hypocrite. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. She had very few clear memories before a particular day in the library, when they had finished one of her first reading lessons. For an instant, Gerald wished the rest of the world away that he might go to her and administer appropriate comfort. Your father is very angry, and will not have her name mentioned in his hearing. The signal of distress was evidently understood. Stanley. . I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot.
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