Her father—man of rock—had never needed her, whereas Hoddy, even if he did not love her, would always be needing her. "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. ‘Don’t let us quarrel over your Leonardo,’ he said, summoning a faint smile. "Something worse, I fear," Wood replied. But don’t think your heroic milice will save you. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. Their doors stood open, and placards with big letters indicated the section assigned to each. It’s only as if I’d begun to know you the day before yesterday or there-abouts. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments.
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