It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. He moved her dress from her shoulders and off her torso. ” “Thanks to me,” he repeated, puzzled. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. You appear to be amongst those strong enough in all ordinary matters, but who seem to think it quite natural and proper to give in at once and play the weakling directly—one cares. She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol.
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