It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. She shivered, more due to his presence than the changing weather. Good-looking girl. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street.
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