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Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. Meanwhile, the clergyman, bare-headed and in his surplice, advanced to meet them. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. “Do something!” But he laid by his prey, half-watching the fight, gorging on the woman he had caught that had been meant for Rhea and her child. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. Stanley.
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