It was not only that her father had said all sorts of inconsistent and unreasonable things, but that by some incomprehensible infection she herself had replied in the same vein. Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. We’ll leave him here, with a couple of others. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. She appeared to be considering. It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. She pushed the former and it opened. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered. Plain, wide-mouthed, freckled, and ugly, she was an instantly jealous creature, her saving grace that she took no pains to mask her extreme dislike 47 of petite, pretty girls.
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