Wood rushed instantly to meet them. So that as she saw him she remarked to herself very faintly but definitely, “Oh, golly!” and set up a campaign of avoidance that Mr. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. The white veil had fallen to the ground and Gerald retrieved it for her. At any rate he made it very clear that night that there was an ineradicable discord in life, a jarring something that must shatter all her dreams of a way of living for women that would enable them to be free and spacious and friendly with men, and that was the passionate predisposition of men to believe that the love of women can be earned and won and controlled and compelled. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud.
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