He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. Heliers. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. Her eyes were insane with rage, crusted with yellow and green, only beginning to heal from her long sojourn underground. Even now he was not at all sure that she was not playing with him.
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