Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. It could not go on much longer, her luck. She decided that she would try to push whatever resolve he had in the car to see where it would lead. Lucy could see Diane’s clear dislike of her, the foster background she had come from, and the single mysterious episode with the police that had inflamed the gossips from all the corners of town. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque.
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