‘I don’t want him having an apoplexy in this house. You’re a piss-poor liar, John. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. ” She shook her fist ceilingward.
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