The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. "This Enschede—the missioner. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. He has escaped. One or the other. It was a second reminder that against her claim to go free and untrammelled there was a case to be made, that after all it was true that a girl does not go alone in the world unchallenged, nor ever has gone freely alone in the world, that evil walks abroad and dangers, and petty insults more irritating than dangers, lurk. " After all those former bitter failures, this cup was sweet, even if there was the flavour of irony. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. She shut her lips hard, her jaw hardened, and she set herself to struggle with him.
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